


Many Crowns of Violets and Roses

by AuteurOnirique



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Abigail discovers she's a sub, Abigail is 20, Abigail is in shock from how good Miranda is at cunnilingus, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anne and Jack are wonderful and supportive, Any of this, Dealing with panic attacks, Don't Try This At Home, Drug Use, F/F, Flint and Miranda are still mourning for Thomas, Getting stuck in handcuffs, I do promise it's still very soft and emotional, I hope you're ready for badass Abigail, I realize now that this might be considered a slow-burn, I'll add the rest of the tags and pairings as the story progresses, Kissing finally happens, Miranda deserves to be happy so I gave her a girlfriend, Miranda is 42, Miranda is having none of it, Ned Lowe is sadly here and he's a creep, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Some Mention of Violence, Teach behaves like a disappointed king, There is some angst but it's mostly happy and nice and people are friends, They're the 'teach the creeps a lesson' squad, Vaginal Fingering, Vane is in some shady business, and badass Miranda too, but there's going to be some silverflint, if you want to head for the smut directly go to chapter 9, seduction through tea and books and flowers, they have a nice day at the beach because they deserve it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 72,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8113411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuteurOnirique/pseuds/AuteurOnirique
Summary: “For many crowns of violetsand roses] at my side you put on”94 - I wish I were dead - Sappho, translated by Anne CarsonAbigail is going on vacation in the Bahamas with her roommate Eleanor. Many unexpected things happen, chief among them, Miranda Barlow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> First of all, thanks a lot for reading this. So, I understand that this pairing may come a little out of the blue, but I was thinking about what Miranda said to Flint about Abigail having blossomed into a young woman and it felt like a clock ticking for her. At first, I just thought about Miranda feeling old, but then I realized that she considered Abigail as a young woman, not as a child. Well, basically, it gave me ideas and I really really want Miranda to be happy so I thought I would try writing this. 
> 
> I would like to thank (the academy...) Wirrwarr (you may know her as Alex) for all her support and for proof-reading this (any remaining mistakes are just mine) and her being really excited about this unusual pairing. She's my amazing fan fiction friend! 
> 
> This chapter is mostly a sort of setting the scene, so I hope you don't find it too boring. Enjoy the ride, I guess!

_“I don’t really know what I was thinking. One minute, I was sitting at my desk, doing homework, being the girl everyone wanted me to be, the girl I always imagined I was. The other minute my roommate, Eleanor, was looking up from her phone, asking:_

_‘Would you like to go on vacation in the Bahamas?’_

_I scoffed, looking up from my literature theory notes: ‘I wish. But I think the break will look more like the country house of my aunt and endless Bridge games, and hearing her go on about how awful the neighbours are.’_

_My father had already told me that he wouldn’t be able to come to England for the break and he doesn’t want me to come to Charlestown. He said it wasn’t a place for nice girls like me yet. But he would make it so. For now, however, I would have to spend another break at my aunt’s house. I really can’t say I’m surprised. Just… disappointed somehow._

_‘My boyfriend has a house in Nassau. Big house. He said he was cool with us coming.’_

_‘So, it is an ‘on’ week.’ I teased my roommate. She rolled her eyes, still texting._

_‘I mean, think about it, Abi, we tell our parents we’re at Mr Scott’s house, my father’s friend, basically my guardian, which is also on Nassau but he only lives here like six months a year. We say we’re staying there and then we go to Charles’ house and have the nice break we deserve. Come on, you know those finals are going to be the death of us.’_

_‘They are going to be hard…’ I conceded, looking at the notes I made for my outline._

_‘And then, what, you’re going to your aunt, and I’m going to stay here? Nope. We’re treating ourselves to some nice vacation after this. We are. It’s motivational. Good for grades. Tell that to your dad.’_

_‘I mean, I don’t know yet. I mean, I don’t know Charles. Maybe he won’t like me and it’s going to be awkward. I mean, I don’t want to be a bother to you and your boyfriend when you’re trying to have a nice time together and all.’ I replied. The idea was way too appealing to be true. I didn’t want to get false hopes to see them deteriorating or being cancelled at the last minute._

_Eleanor, of course, was having none of it. She looked up her phone and stared at me: ‘You’re not going to be a bother. You’re always so quiet, I wonder if you’ve ever been a bother to anyone. This will be the occasion to fucking loosen up. You know no one here. No one expects anything of you. You’re just going to go and have fun. So, are you in?’_

_I looked out to the window. Snow was falling and the sun was already setting, at 5 in the afternoon. I don’t mind the London rain or the cold or the wind, but I don’t like snow. There will be no snow in Nassau._

_I felt my heart beat faster, as it did when I snuck into the kitchen to ask the cook for some cookies before it was tea time. This was considerably more dangerous than spoiling my appetite, but I was also older. I felt a smile tugging on my lips._

_‘That’s what I’m fucking talking about!’ Eleanor answered, a broad smile on her own lips._

_I couldn’t help but laugh nervously as I nodded: ‘Okay, I’ll go. I’ll phone my father tomorrow. I’ll go.’_

_‘Bahamas vacation, hell yeah!’ Eleanor shouted, raising her fist in the air. ”_

 

Abigail was looking at the swimsuit section of the thrift store. In the middle of winter, it was literally the only store that had anything summer-wise. Next to her, Eleanor was on her phone, biting her lips while texting Charles Vane, probably. Eleanor had already selected two bikinis and some shorts. Abigail was cold just looking at them. She burrowed her chin in her scarf a little more.

She didn’t know what would fit her. What was in fashion. She had never gone on a vacation by herself before and she didn’t know anything about what to wear, what would be to conservative or too revealing… She didn’t know who Charles Vane was, outside of what Eleanor told him. She didn’t…

“Hey, Abi, check this out!” Eleanor called her from the end of the bikini section.

Abigail looked up to have her friend’s phone thrust in her face. On the screen, the man she had come to recognize as Charles Vane was lying on a transat, his tanned and muscled chest on obvious display. The text under it read: ‘Can’t wait for you to be here.’ 

“In two weeks,” Eleanor said mischievously, “This will be all mine.” 

Abigail smiled: “Well, lucky girl, let this motivate you for your economics final.”

Eleanor groaned: “I wish we didn’t have to take exams. I mean, it’s so unfair to have to be quizzed again and again when we know that we’ll learn most of what we need when we finally get a job.”

“Come on, we don’t have long to wait until the end. Finish the semester with a resounding ‘bang’ of victory.” Abigail encouraged her while looking back to the swimsuits, knowing she wouldn’t probably find anything. 

“Having trouble finding anything? What have you got so far?” Eleanor asked. “Nothing? Gosh, you should have told me. Is it the sizes? They’re all so fucking confusing…”

“No, it’s just… I don’t really know what would fit me… Do you think green would do?” Abigail asked while holding out a green one piece swimsuit.

“Not that green, gosh, no. Don’t they have anything more… soft. Pastel. Something like that?”

“They don’t have a lot of things… It’s the middle of winter…” Abigail reminded her. 

“Oh, well, we’re going to have you try a couple of brands to get your size and then we’ll order online. They’ll have more stuff here. We can have them delivered directly at Charles’ house.” Eleanor decided, taking some random swimsuits and ushering Abigail in the changing rooms. 

“Eleanor, I can’t try on swimsuits, I have two pair of tights, it’s going to take forever!” Abigail protested. 

“It’s alright, I’ll be taking fucking forever too in the cabin next to yours!” Eleanor answered. “Write down all your sizes for all the brands!” She ordered, as she usually did. 

Abigail sighed and started removing her clothes. She could hear Eleanor taking selfies in the cabin next to her, probably for Charles. She looked at herself in the mirror and made a small grimace at herself. She wished she knew how to cut out the shortbread fingers during the finals. 

***

Abigail was waxing her legs in the bathroom while proof-reading her essay, hair in a bun, trying to focus on the two things while Eleanor was having an argument with Charles Vane on the phone.

“I told you two days ago to expect the fucking package. I’m sorry you can’t remember anything I tell you!” Eleanor was saying.

“You said a package, I was thinking about the other thing!” Abigail could hear Vane’s incredibly deep voice from here. 

“Well I don’t have the other thing yet, tell your guy to hurry the fuck up!”

“It’s not my fault the guy hasn’t contacted me!”

“Is it not?… Wait… What did you do to the package then? You kept it, right?”

“Yes, I kept it in my room. I figured it was your clothes, with all the white and blue stuff and all.”

“There’s some of Abi’s clothes in there too so don’t touch anything! You didn’t touch anything right?”

“Were the padded bras yours?”

“Yes, why? You… You fucking didn’t…”

“It would have been the ideal hiding place!”

“I swear to God, Charles Vane, if you ripped up my fucking padded bras!” Eleanor shouted. 

Abigail frowned a little. What hiding place? A hiding place for what? Could Eleanor talk quietly to Charles for once? Was her vacation in danger? She sighed and turned her music up.    
***

Abigail couldn’t wait to be in the Bahamas. She was walking to her ancient greek translation exam, clutching a very sugary latte she had made this morning, trying not to spill it all on her vocabulary flashcards. 

She was wearing two sweaters under her coat and a giant scarf and she could swear she had forgotten what it was like to be warm. 

She met her latin teacher in the corridors. The woman smiled at her, probably out of pity for her dark circles, but Abigail couldn’t help but blush a little. 

***

“We’re almost there.” Eleanor said, trying to sound positive. 

They were sitting in a café after an exam, starving and not yet ready to go back to their rooms to revise some more. Well, Abigail was cheating a little, staring at some notes she had made on Bakhtine, but she doubted she was truly taking anything in. 

“I’m so going to welcome being far from here.” Abigail answered, sipping her coffee. 

“What do you think about this one?” Eleanor asked, pushing her phone towards her. 

Abigail looked at the lingerie ensemble. It was a white lace garter set with sky blue ribbons. It looked very… risky. Probably for Charles’ benefit. Abigail has built a lack of inhibition about Eleanor’s relationship with Charles. She even called the man ‘Charles’ when she wouldn’t have dreamt looking at him in the eye, had they met directly. Giving underwear advice to Eleanor had made her blush so much at first, and a year later, here she was, approving of her garter set choices. 

She did blush, however, handing Eleanor’s phone back to her. Because she had just imagined how nice the lace would feel on her own skin. She had never owned anything too fancy, underwear-wise and, before Eleanor, she had never even dreamt of wearing anything like a garter set, and yet… 

“Wait…” Abigail said, frowning, ”Is that the price?” 

“Yes, it is.” Eleanor replied unfazed. “It’s alright, Charles is paying since he ripped up my padded bras. Plus, he’s going to enjoy it as much as I will so it’s only fair that he pays for it.”

Eleanor finally looked up and Abigail quickly took a bite of her blueberry muffin to mask her embarrassment.

Fat chance. 

“Did you pack your own lingerie?” Eleanor asked. “I could always ask Charles to pay for a garter set just for you.” She said with her conspiracy look that Abigail rarely liked. 

“I’m fine. It’s not like I have anyone to impress anyway.”

“Lingerie can be nice just for your own enjoyment. Plus, you never know. Girl, we’re going to the Bahamas, anything can happen there.” 

Abigail was ready to answer when she was interrupted by a young man wearing a three-piece suit coming to their table. 

“Eleanor? Wow! It’s been so long.”

“Hey, Patrick, it’s been a while indeed. Do you come here often? It’s the first time I’ve seen you here.” Eleanor replied. 

“No, I’m just taking a new route for this meeting. I’m sorry I don’t have a lot of time. But we should definitively catch up sometime.”

The young man bent a little so he could kiss Eleanor’s cheek and Abigail noticed him slipping his left arm over Eleanor’s lap, presumably to touch her thigh, which seemed highly inappropriate but since Eleanor didn’t seem bothered by him (and Eleanor was always very vocal about those things) Abigail didn’t say anything either. Patrick then stood up, nodded to Abigail and went to get his coffee. Eleanor fumbled with her handbag for a minute, nodding to Patrick when he exited the café with a paper cup in his hand. 

When they were left alone again, Abigail muttered to her friend: “What was that about?”

“Oh, he’s just a guy in one of the companies I interned in. Don’t mind him. He’s a bit of a loser.”

“I meant his hand.” 

“I’ll explain later. Promise. So, what’s your last final?”

“Literature theory. It’s going to be the end of me.” 

“Is it the one with the old creepy teacher?”

“That one exactly. But well, it’s the one subject I studied the most this semester because I know he’s going to give us a terrible final essay. With some luck, I might just pass.”

“You’re an excellent student, Abi, you don’t just ‘pass’, you ace.”

“Well, with this one, I’ll be happy to just pass. What’s your last final?”

“Statistics. I tell you, Abi, after this one, I’ll need some booze.”

***

“Eleanor, please tell me you’re not currently doing your suitcase.” Abigail asked. 

“It’s alright, I’m almost done. Plus, most of the clothes I’ll need are already at Charles’ house.” Eleanor replied, hurriedly shoving some clothes in her suitcase. 

Abigail rubbed the much needed sleep from her eyes, holding her blanket around her to ward off the cold of the early morning. “I swear, Eleanor, we have to leave the room in two hours if we want to catch the plane.”

“It’s alright. I’ve got it under control.”

“You said it was a small party and you’d be here by midnight.”

“Yeah, turns out we had a lot more to celebrate than we thought. It’s alright, I’ll sleep in the plane. You can use the shower, I’ll go after, when the suitcase is ready.”

Abigail nodded and walked to the bathroom, guided more by habit than anything. It was way too early to open her eyes yet. 

***

The fact that they were in that plane was a miracle. 

Abigail should have been happy. She spent the last two weeks imagining how happy she would feel in that plane, on her way to her Bahamas vacation. 

It was all ruined now. 

When she had come out of the fogged in bathroom, Abigail had found a small velvet pouch on her neatly packed suitcase. Eleanor was almost done with her own suitcase and was stuffing another similar velvet pouch between two t-shirts. 

“What’s this?” Abigail had asked, taking the small pouch and feeling marbles inside. She opened it and found black pearls. There must have been fifty pearls in there. It was worth a fortune. 

“If a custom officer asks, tell him your sugar daddy bought you a river of pearls but it broke and you’re bringing it back to him so he can have it repaired.” Eleanor answered seriously. 

“What? Eleanor, what is this?” Abigail asked, panic rising in her chest. “Is this why we’re going to the Bahamas?”

“It’s just pearls. Charles needs them. Just relax. We won’t get caught.”

“You’re making me smuggle pearls illegally for your boyfriend? Eleanor, you should have told me! If we get caught we could go to prison! I didn’t agree to this! I just wanted to go on vacation, not be part of… whatever this is!”

Eleanor turned around and put her hands on Abigail’s shoulders: “We are. We’re going on vacation. As soon as we have landed, we give Charles the pearls and we’re done with his business. We can party at his house and drink his alcohol. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I needed to be sure you wouldn’t tell anyone. Take the pearls in your suitcase. It’s the only thing I’ll ask of you ever. I promise. No one will catch us. No one will. I promise.”

“You don’t know that…” Abigail protested, trying to shake Eleanor off. “If we get arrested, I’ll never be able to become a professor… No university will ever take me in! I’m not doing this for your boyfriend whom I never met.”

“Abi!” Eleanor cut sharply through her panic, shaking her slightly. “Abi, we’re not going to get caught. It’s not the first time I’ve done it and we’re not going to get caught. People will see us and will only see us as two young spoiled girls going to the Bahamas for the break. They’re going to take one look at our family name and they’re going to judge us silently and let us go. That’s all. Put the pearls in your suitcase and you’re going to forget them for the flight and then you’re going to give them to Charles and then we’re going to drink mojitos by the pool and then drink beer by the sea and have a fucking good time. We won’t take anything back. it’s going to be the only time I’ll ever ask you anything like that, I swear.”

Abigail looked down at her bare feet on the cold tile. She really wanted to go. It had been the one thing that helped her get through the finals. She had gone to finals thinking that this would be one less final to sit through before she could swim in the ocean. She had gone to bed thinking she was one day closer to go somewhere she could be free from family, from classmates from everyone who ever expected anything of her. She could be someone new. Everything was settled: she had a very uncomfortable phone call with her father who had been rightly suspicious and had made her promise not to drink. She had an even more uncomfortable phone call with her aunt who had lamented about being too boring for her niece for an hour. The plane tickets were taken. The clothes bought. 

She could be free for two entire weeks. 

She looked at the pearls in her hand. 

She nodded. 

“Alright. Alright I’ll take them. But it’s the last time I do anything like that for you.”

Abigail had accepted taking the pearls with her and they had taken the plane, as if they were two spoiled daughters on their way to a Bahamas vacation, like Eleanor had said. 

Still, the young woman was now sitting in the plane, staring blankly at the screen in front of her. She was committing a crime. She could imagine the disappointed look on her father’s face when he would ask her: “You smuggled pearls into the Bahamas for your roommate’s boyfriend? What have your mother been teaching you before she died? To commit crimes so you could go on vacation?”

Abigail did her best to blink the tears away. She snuggled in her giant scarf once more, trying to make herself as small as possible, trying to disappear. 

She had thought this vacation would be perfect, idyllic. It was slowly becoming a nightmare. 

***

When the plane had landed, Abigail had woken up with a start, looking around her, bewildered. Next to her, Eleanor was waking up as well, looking just as perfect as she had when she had fallen asleep. They looked at each other. Eleanor smiled: 

“We’re here. We’re here. Bahamas vacation, baby!” She exclaimed, as if she was not committing an awful crime. She grabbed Abigail’s face and kissed her cheek. “Take your fucking coat and your scarf off!”

The old lady next to them looked at them with intensely disapproving eyes.

Abigail couldn’t help but laugh a little. “That’s it, come on, Abi, we’re in the Bahamas now!” Eleanor encouraged her. By the time the gates opened, Abigail felt her heart lighter already. 

They went through the customs like a breathe and were soon passing through the final gate where people were picking their loved ones up. 

Charles was waiting for them there. 

He was just as Eleanor had described him. He was sitting in one of the seats, legs spread ridiculously wide, three beer cans in his hands, shirt opened obscenely wide, showing off his impressive tan and his even more impressive abs. He looked like the bad boy from all the comedies Abigail had watched when she was younger. However, he smiled when Eleanor ran to him, leaving her luggage behind, so she could hop in his arms. He, of course, caught her and held her tight as they kissed in the middle of the airport, much to some families’ disapproval. 

Abigail scoffed at this and rolled their luggage out of the way while she waited for the two lovers to run out of breath. Through the bay windows, she could already see the wide blue sky and the sun shining brightly. They had made it. They had made it and now she could start enjoying her vacation. She closed her eyes a second, letting the warmth washing over her. How she had longed for that. 

“Hey, Abi, let me introduce you to Charles, even though you two basically know each other already.” 

Charles had lost his smile and he still looked scary, but there was something softer in his face than she had expected when he turned to her, towering over her. He seemed to hesitate for a second before extending his hand to her. Abigail shook it with a shy smile: 

“Nice to meet you Charles.”

“Nice to meet you too. Welcome to Nassau.” He then seemed to remember the beers in his hand. He gave on to Abigail and the other to Eleanor. “To vacation.” He toasted.

Abigail struggled a little to open hers, blushing violently after seeing how Charles had opened his as if it were the easiest thing in the world. She finally clicked her can with Eleanor’s and Charles’ before bringing it to her lips. 

Oh, those beers were a lot stronger than the ones Eleanor would bring her after a party. She did her best not to grimace while Charles nearly finished his in one shot. Abigail turned to meet Eleanor’s eyes. They smiled at each other. They were here now and they were here together now. 

***

Charles brought them to the parking lot where an old truck was waiting for them. In the backseat, two people were turning the whole car into a smoke aquarium. One of them was a lanky man with a funny haircut and funnier sideburns, which made Abigail drink more of her beer so no one would see her smile. It would have been rude. The other was a woman, sitting with legs spread as wide as Charles’ had been, a hat fixed firmly on her head, long ginger hair in her face. She looked as scary as Charles and Abigail tried smiling at her. The two people had the rest of the beer pack in addition to their bong. 

“Do you have it?” The man asked nervously. “Charles, do you have it?”

“We have it, relax.” Eleanor answered dryly. 

“Relax?” The man asked, staring at Eleanor as if she had just landed from the moon. “Oh, I missed you, Eleanor.” He said sarcastically. 

“Hey,” Charles called without raising his voice but still menacing. “We have it. Make some room for Abigail in the back.”

Charles put away their suitcases while Eleanor made herself comfortable in the passenger seat and the man with the strange sideburns gently pushed his friend so he could make some room for Abigail. She stepped in and knew she would smell like smoke for at least three days after that. She smiled shyly at them after buckling her seatbelt which, for some reason, made the woman smile. 

“Hi, it appears we have not been properly introduced. I’m Jack Rackham, this is Anne Bonny, pleased to meet you.” The man said while shaking her hand. The woman only mumbled something Abigail couldn’t catch with a little hand sign in greeting. “Don’t worry about her, she’s not the most social of people. So, Abigail, is that right? Pleased to meet you. I can’t say we heard a lot about you, but I’m sure we’ll get along well.”

Abigail smiled again, nodding, glad to be accepted, at least by Jack. 

On the way to Charles’ house (which seemed to be Jack’s and Anne’s house as well) Jack pointed out several historical landmarks and talked about them as if he was doing a tour, which, from what Abigail could understand from the bickering between Charles and Jack, was actually, Jack’s job. Abigail couldn’t say she minded. She knew very little about Nassau and was happy to learn with Jack’s impressive ability to make about anything sound interesting. Anne didn’t utter a single word for the entire trip, but that seemed to be normal. 

When Charles parked his car in the driveway, he muttered: “Oh shit, she’s here.”

“Who’s here?” Eleanor said, sounding slightly worried, which made Abigail start and look around for any sign of police, or anything, really.

“Oh, it’s only the neighbour on her porch. Charles is terrified of her.” Jack commented.

“I’m not afraid of her” Charles retorted, too strongly to be sincere. 

“It all started when Charles moved in. She was tending to the fig tree by her gate and when Charles nodded at her in greeting, the height of Charles Vane’s politeness, she winked at him. He’s been terrified of her since then.” Jack declared. “She’s really cool, that being said. She never complains about the music being too loud, or all the partying. Not all neighbours would be that tolerant.”

Charles shut the car door with a little too much strength. Eleanor stared at the figure in the well-tended front garden before exiting the car as well. When Anne opened the car door, some empty beer cans fell out but she got out, heedless of them, the bong still in her hand. Jack used Anne’s shoulder to get out of the car without stumbling and, with a lot of unnecessary flourish, offered his hand to Abigail to help her as well: “Votre carosse est avancé, mademoiselle.”

 

She laughed a little and took his hand. She was ashamed to say that the single beer she had already made her a little fuzzy and unsure of her own balance. She wasn’t used to drinking. With her scarf and her coat under her arm, she stood in the driveway and finally stretched after spending so much time in confined spaces. She even closed her eyes and moaned a little, already feeling wild and free. 

She heard Eleanor chuckling at her and Jack trying to explain to Anne that him speaking French to other girls didn’t mean anything to him. Abigail suddenly felt watched. She frowned and turned her head towards the neighbour’s house before she could think of it. 

The neighbour in question was a strikingly beautiful woman with long, heavy brown hair, trousers dirty from what Abigail presumed was gardening and a flimsy shirt, with sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She had a glass in one hand and her gardening gloves in the other. And she was staring directly at Abigail. 

There was something intense and interested in her eyes and Abigail couldn’t help but to feel… like a deer in the headlights… Before she could even think about it, she felt her cheeks heat intensely and had to look down so the woman wouldn’t notice. Abigail had a feeling the woman would notice anyway. She swallowed and followed Vane closely as he entered the house with hers and Eleanor’s suitcases. 

However, just before she entered the house, she couldn’t help but look again. There was something about that woman… which made her curious, which made her want to look. The woman was still standing there, her glass dangling from her fingers, a small smile on her face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and your kudos! I'm glad this pairing and this story have interested you. I hope that you'll enjoy this chapter as well: Abigail and Miranda officially meet and there's some mention of Silverflint! I'd be delighted to know if you liked it!

_“Even the most cliché scenario has its hidden depths, I’ve come to believe. Here we are, in the wonderful little town of Nassau, in the Bahamas, for two weeks of idyllic vacation. And yet._

_And yet we’re in a situation I cannot even beginning to fully understand. I do not understand where the pearls I’ve smuggled came from nor what they represent or what Charles Vane is going to do with them. I feel like I don’t even know Eleanor. I’ve always thought she was just a boisterous economics student, but now… Now I’m discovering a whole new side of her. She is part of it. Part of what is going on in Nassau._

_I feel like I’m in a reverse play, me as the only spectator while the whole world around me is on the stage._

_I’m currently writing in my old diary, which seems slightly wrong. This diary belonged to the nice quiet girl who had never much to say and certainly did not smuggle illegal pearls across international borders. The pages still smell like London, like the yellowed leaf I put in at the beginning of autumn. I should get a new one probably._

_I feel like… I’ve changed in ways I do not yet understand. It is such a cliché. Young nice girl becomes friend with bad influence and is forced into a life of crime._

_Truth is, no one forced me. I could have put the pearls back. I could have said no. But I didn’t. And when I was drinking cold beer by the pool with Eleanor, Charles, Jack, and Anne, I was glad I came._

_There is another change, however. Something deeper, I believe._

_Charles Vane’s neighbour is a fascinating person. I feel this entire entry is a mess. I don’t know what to write about it. She intrigues me so much that I feel like I should run away, and yet I can’t._

_I find myself wondering a thousand things about her. Who is she? What is her name? What does she do? Where does she come from?_

_Did I imagine the way she looked at me? Do I make too much of it? What is it in her that is so fascinating?_

_I feel like my mind is growing wild. I’m imagining things I barely even dare writing down because they are so ridiculous. I imagine the neighbour looking at me and finding me… pretty. Intriguing. I know, as I write it, how ridiculous it is. How self-absorbed. She was probably only curious about two new people in the neighbourhood._

_I didn’t get to look at her as much as I wanted to because I didn’t want to stare and be caught staring… But I know that she is beautiful. Am I intrigued by her because I want to be her, or is there another reason?_

_I don’t know. This is ridiculous. I should get some sleep. I can’t wait to visit Nassau tomorrow. Jack promised he would take me!”_

When Miranda came back from her morning swim in the ocean, she found Deputy James Flint waiting for her near the outdoor shower in her backyard, fiddling with his fingers, as usual. She smiled at him before opening the cold water faucet (the only one that worked) and starting her shower in front of him. It wasn’t like they had any secret for each other. James had seen it all and she had seen all of James. 

“What troubles you so much?” She asked while shampooing the salt out of her hair.

“Eleanor is here. At Vane’s house.”

“I know. I saw her yesterday.”

“What? And you didn’t tell me?”

“You were at work. You hate it when I call you at work. Plus, I’m not your spy, remember?” Miranda replied, rinsing her hair. “Can you pass me the soap?”

When Vane had taken up the house right next to Miranda’s, Flint had tried for days and days to make Miranda spy on him in order to obtain sufficient evidence to obtain a warrant to search his house. However, Miranda had been very firm: she wanted to get along with all her neighbours, even the hypothetically criminal ones, and it wasn’t her fault James had decided that Vane was his new arch-enemy. Flint had sullenly stopped insisting after two weeks. Miranda still had to remove two cameras he had set up in her garden. 

“So, how was your shift?” She tried to distract him. 

“Boring. Tiring. I work with lazy asses.” Flint replied grumpily. 

“And they work with a control-obsessive ass. Try to understand them.” Miranda teased him. Flint rolled his eyes but still smiled. 

When Miranda finally stepped out of her shower, Flint handed her the towel she had set on the verandah table. She wrapped herself in it and invited him in for coffee.

“Where is John by the way? I thought you’d be with him now that your shift is finished.”

Flint worked nights. He didn’t want to say he did so because his new-found boyfriend worked at night too, but he couldn’t fool Miranda. No one could fool Miranda. 

“He said he had been covered in glitter for whatever the event was, and I told him to only come over when he wouldn’t be trailing glitter all over my house and my stuff. The last thing I need is glitter on my uniform.”

Miranda couldn’t help but laugh at the picture of James arresting someone while having glitter in his beard from where John had kissed him. She left James to take care of coffee while she went to get dressed and found him, as could be expected, suspiciously watching through the window at Vane’s house. You couldn’t see much, but you had a nice view on their messy kitchen. 

In the kitchen, a young girl was searching all the cabinets, probably in search of something that could be called breakfast. “Who is she?” Flint asked Miranda, as if she were the gazette reporter of the comings and goings of Vane’s house. 

After an uncharacteristic minute of silence from Miranda, Flint turned to her. She was watching the young girl, her towel stopped midway in the movement of drying her hair. She had a half-smile on her lips and her dark eyes were focused solely on the girl standing on her tiptoes to reach a higher shelf. Flint followed her glance. The girl was pretty, he guessed. She was quite pale, had very dark hair in a high ponytail, half undone by sleep, and was wearing deep blue flannel pyjama bottoms and a too large white t-shirt. She was petite, at least she seemed so next to Anne Bonny, Jack’s… everything… who had joined the breakfast quest, wearing only boxers. 

“Miranda…” Flint started, putting on his best stern face. 

“Duck!” She interrupted him in an urgent whisper. 

“What?” Flint instantly replied in the same tone. 

“Duck! Ah… Too late…” Miranda said before shaking her head. “She saw you. She saw us. She must think I’m straight now… What a shame…” She finally explained. 

Flint stole another glance at Vane’s kitchen where he could indeed see the young girl quickly averting her eyes, cheeks redder than they had been a second ago. She turned her back to the window and said something to Anne Bonny who immediately dropped the empty cereal box she had been looking into for a good minute. 

Flint turned his head back to Miranda who was in her bedroom, door wide open, putting on some mascara in front of her mirror: “What does it matter what she thinks anyway? She’s Vane’s friend… and she’s quite young…” He tried. 

Miranda just shook her head: “It’s no matter now. She saw us having coffee in the kitchen in the early morning. She must think she just had a glimpse of a perfectly conventional domestic life. Oh, well, nothing can be done now, I imagine.” There was something bitter in her voice which made Flint frown. He knelt next to Miranda’s vanity and watched her as she applied lipstick. 

She smiled at him: “Now, that brings some memories back.” She teased. He smiled indulgently.

“There’ll be someone, Miranda. You’re an outstanding woman: anyone would be lucky to have you express interest in them.”

“I wish you were right.” Miranda said, putting her lipstick in her handbag. “However I’m afraid Nassau has already made up its mind about me, and I’m the witch of the story.”

Flint stood up and carefully cupped her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead and she had to close her eyes tight in order not to ruin her mascara. It was his way of saying: “Sorry for bringing you here. Sorry for keeping you here.” She held his hand for a minute before letting him go. 

“You have to admit, there’s something pretty satisfying at knowing you make the great criminal Charles Vane cower in fear at your very sight.” Flint added with the smile Miranda knew was reserved for his closest relations. She smiled back. “I’m not scared!” She imitated her neighbour’s deep gravelly voice. 

They left five minutes later, Miranda closing the door behind her while Flint was walking to his police car as if he were still on duty. Just as they left, they heard Anne shout: “Jack! If you ever want breakfast, let me in the bathroom so I can drive to the supermarket!”

***

Abigail was looking at the clothes laid out on her bed, still unsure about what to wear. It was sunny today, and quite hot, but not hellishly so. Should she start with one of her maxi dresses? Was it too overkill? Should she go for a more conservative style? She couldn’t truly focus. Her mind was racing, replaying again and again the events of this morning. 

Well, the events…

The glimpse she had of the neighbour’s perfect domestic life. With a man. 

They looked… well-suited for each other, she guessed. She was wondering if the man was her husband or her lover. They moved like they had a well-established routine, so they were probably married. The young woman sighed and closed her eyes, trying to ward off unwanted thoughts and the feeling in her chest. She had jumped to the occasion of seeing some mystery to let her imagination run wild when really, there was nothing to it. The neighbour was a perfectly conventional woman who happened to be very nice and smile at everyone. 

Abigail sighed again and took the first dress she found before going to the shower which Eleanor had just exited. 

***

Anne driving was… an experience. 

She wasn’t driving badly per se. She was just going really really fast. No police officer in their right mind would have let any of what she was doing slide. Thankfully, Jack, in the passenger seat, was quite knowledgeable about small roads to take in order to avoid most of the traffic and the police. 

Abigail was sitting in the backseat, clutching her seatbelt and remembering prayers she hadn’t said in at least ten years. But her already-dry hair was blowing in her face and her eggshell blue dress was floating with the warm summer wind and she couldn’t help but feel somewhat… exhilarated. 

Her father wouldn’t imagine her doing this in his wildest dreams. She was so far out of the range of his expectations that she couldn’t even feel the grip of it. 

Anne parked the car in front of the supermarket and they all went in, Jack trying to remember most of the shopping list he had sworn Charles he would “remember so perfectly, he would only buy those items for weeks and wouldn’t need to write down.”

Now, Anne was filling the cart with chips while Jack was randomly picking stuff and saying: “Ah, yes, I remember that.” Abigail was looking around her, comparing prices with London, reading the ingredients list of products that caught her eye. 

“So,” Jack said suddenly. “You were quiet as a mouse yesterday, and I notice you still are this morning. Would you happen to be shy?” He put an arm around her shoulders with a smile. Had it been anyone else, Abigail would have felt uneasy or threatened. But it was Jack and he somehow felt like a big brother. 

“Hum, we could say that I’m a little shy, yes…” She answered, putting some hair back behind her ear. 

“The Bahamas will loosen you up, don’t worry. We’re going to make you live a little. It’s going to be fun!” Jack promised and Abigail could already felt herself tense at that. 

“Don’t scare her,” Anne said, surprising both Jack and Abigail. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll lay back. It was not my intention to scare you at all. We just want you to have fun. So… How did you and Eleanor meet?”

“We’re roommates.” Abigail said, as she usually did when asked, ready to leave it at that. Then, she decided to tell the entire story, to amuse Jack and Anne. “At first we wouldn’t speak a lot, just, you know, having different hours, and not really knowing each other… And one day, I was working in the couch, waiting for the new episode of my series, and Eleanor came in with beers. She sat next to me, gave me a beer, took one herself, sitting on the couch next to me. Her phone was ringing and ringing non-stop. She opened the beers and said: “We’re having a girl’s night in, smile, pretend to be happy, to have fun.” And I was rather startled and, you know Eleanor, when she gives an order, you just start obeying without thinking. So I smiled and she took a picture with me like we were super friends but I didn’t really know her, I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend. She sent it to Charles with the caption ‘Can’t hear you over the sound of the amazing girl’s night in we’re having.’ But I didn’t even know her. I guess we’ve been friends since then.” Abigail finished, laughing a little. 

Anne snorted and Jack had to stop a minute because he was laughing so much. He wiped the corner of his eyes and said, after taking a deep breath: “I remember that! Charles wouldn’t shut up about that picture for days! He even had Idelle come over so he could take pictures with her to send Eleanor. Oh, I’m glad they’re in the ‘in’ phase now, even if they make so much noise, because it’s so, so dramatic when they’re falling out.”

“Who’s Idelle?” Abigail asked in a whisper. “Is Charles cheating on Eleanor with her?”

“Idelle? Oh well… I guess she’s the one you come to when you want to cheat on someone… She’s hum… a lady of the night. But she also work during the day sometimes.”

“She’s a sex worker, let’s say it like it is.” Anne interrupted. 

“Anne, what is that? Did you just put the entire chips shelf in the cart? We talked about eating too much salt.”

“Yes, and you always say you’re an ass as soon as you have the munchies.” Anne retorted. “Charles likes chips too.” 

“Well, we can have half that, but not everything. Those are super expensive. Go put them back, darling.” 

Anne grumbled but went to put some of the chips back. To congratulate her, Jack bought some extra coconut sorbet that she loved so much along with the vanilla and chocolate ice cream (because they literally couldn’t all agree on anything else) and some chocolate cookies. 

The cashier, a nice old lady who was apparently one of Jack’s many acquaintances (He was talking about the weather and the latest gossip like they were, at least) shook her head as she scanned the articles: “How are you two still alive? You seem like a nice girl,” She turned to Abigail who was putting away the food in their bags. “Don’t let them drag you into their bad habits.”

“I’ll try, ma’m.” Abigail answered with a smile. Jack put himself between Abigail and the cashier and whispered in an ominous tone: “It’s too late, Margaret. She’s one of us now.”

“Now, go, you’re going to be late for work, Jack.” Margaret hushed them out with an indulgent smile. 

Abigail couldn’t stop smiling as they walked out. Jack had said she was one of them. It felt… good. She looked at the bright blue sky and felt that life was truly good. 

Jack drove them the rest of the way to the museum where the tour was about to start. Jack’s boss berated him on his lateness but the young man took no heed, storing all their shopping in the office’s impressive fridge like he owned it, before ushering Anne and Abigail in the group of tourists waiting for the tour to start. 

Abigail found out that the tour would be driven around in a small blue train with Jack and a mic at its head. She hadn’t been in a small train for years. Anne grumbled about how she knew the tour by heart already and sitting in the train was ridiculous, to which Jack answered, like clockwork, like an habit, that they needed the money. 

“She’s getting paid by the office of tourism as well. She’s supposed to be the security agent of the train.” Jack explained. Anne answered that she wouldn’t move a finger “if one of those fuckers didn’t put their fucking seatbelt on like Jack always told them to and fell over on the road.” Jack concluded: “She’s getting paid.”

Jack went to start the tour introduction, speaking to the group of tourists already captivated by Jack talking and talking about the history of Nassau and sharing funny anecdotes. He even winked at a mother with her husband and her children. The mother didn’t seem to mind. Abigail understood her, in a way: Jack could channel a boyish charm that seemed to work wonders. 

“That fucker knows how to play a crowd.” A man said suddenly next to them, making Abigail jump. 

“Don’t call him a fucker.” Anne spat at the man and Abigail never heard so much venom in her life. She was scared of the tall bald man smoking and staring at her with pale blue eyes that undressed her. But she was even more scared of the deep-seated hatred which emanated from Anne and she was glad she was on the good side of that hatred. 

“Alright, alright, no need to get all defensive. Why don’t you introduce me to your silent friend?” He asked Anne before turning to Abigail. “Hey, sweetie, no need to be shy with me.” 

“Hamund, this is Abigail. Abigail, this is Hamund.” Anne said curtly. 

“Hi” Abigail answered shyly, trying not to cringe when she saw the man moving to engulf her in a hug. 

“We’ll start the tour now.” Jack’s voice suddenly interrupted. “So if you’d be so kind as to step in the train, Hamund will be our driver for the day… Hamund?”

The man threw his cigarette away and left with a wink which made Abigail’s skin crawl. Anne’s right hand left her pocket and she ushered Abigail at the end of the train, sitting next to her. 

***

At the end of the tour, the three of them settled down on the nearest beach, the most populous, it seemed, to eat sandwiches that Jack paid with his impressive tips. Abigail was still trying not to feel threatened by Anne after the redhead had told her a very curt and hateful ‘no’ after Abigail had suggested taking a selfie together at one of the landmarks. 

She still had a lot to learn about them before she could truly fit in. 

“Hey, look who is having a nice romantic booze-less picnic on the beach!” A voice interrupted their lunch. 

Next to them had appeared three people, two women looking marvelous in bikinis and a very fit and very tanned man holding a beer pack. They looked like they could be models, or actors in a Hollywood movie. 

“It’s not a romantic picnic,” Jack answered, ”It’s a friendly picnic with a nice and pure friend who isn’t used to day-drinking like you curs are.”

One of the women with admirable dark hair and even more admirable eyes rolled said eyes before sitting down between Anne and Abigail, making the two girls re-arrange the circle so the new-comers could sit with them. 

The other woman, the one with the blackest hair Abigail had ever seen, and skin as pale as hers, and well… impressive breasts… sat down next to Abigail, looking at her with an appreciative smile. Abigail tried not to feel self-conscious as she re-arranged her dress over her legs. 

The young man sat next to Jack, facing Abigail with a perfect white-toothed smile. Abigail dared a small shy smile before looking down at her lap again. 

“How are you even friend with such innocent people?” The young man asked, not unkindly, but definitively teasing. 

“How are you not fucking the police right now, Silver?” Jack replied in the same tone. 

“Flint’s sleeping. I couldn’t leave my two ladies drinking on the beach alone by such a fine day.”

“We don’t need you to drink, Silver.” The pale woman retorted, opening the beer pack. 

They passed beers all around. Abigail thanked the pale woman next to her which, for some reason, made her smile, as if Abigail had stumbled in front of her. The young man, Silver, passed a lighter around so everyone could open their bottle. When he handed it to her, Abigail felt herself blush again: she had never opened a beer with a lighter before. They always had a beer opener somewhere or Eleanor would conveniently be near and would take care of it. She did her best to position her hands like she had seen them all do it and hoped her hair hid most of her reddening cheeks. 

“You’ve never opened a beer with a lighter before, have you?” The woman sitting next to Anne remarked with a very pronounced accent. Abigail looked up and shook her head no, trying not to blush beet-red which, she felt, was not being a success. 

“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” The pale woman next to her commented. 

“Here, let me help.” The woman with the strong accent cut in again. “It’s simple, it’s all about your fingers. The lighter is like the lever and you help it with your fingers. Here, I’ll show you for the first one.”

Abigail handed her the beer and the lighter and watched the woman open it in less than two seconds. She was nice, Abigail decided. She looked like she could eat a man whole with a sneer, but there was also a softness about her, a grace in her movement, which made her entrancing. When the woman handed her the opened bottle back, Abigail took at least three seconds before reacting and blushed even deeper. Silver chuckled: 

“Don’t worry, Max does that to everyone. Which reminds me! We haven’t introduced ourselves! Where are our manners?”

Anne rolled her eyes, clearly showing she never believed they had any to look for in the first place. 

“May I introduce you to Max, the most charming and most beautiful creature you will see around here. I don’t even mention her wits and her unnatural intelligence which you will soon discover by yourself.” Silver presented histrionically while Max rolled her eyes and pretended to pose for the picture her friend painted of her. “And right next to you, you have Idelle, whose many talents can find no equal, and astonishes her every single day.” Idelle smiled at Abigail again and the young woman had no idea how she felt about that. 

Wait… Idelle, they said? Like… the Idelle?

“Oh, she heard about me alright!” Idelle said, laughing at Abigail’s astonished face. 

“Oh,” Silver said, visibly disappointed, “I wanted to make us all look like respectable people.”

“I don’t want to insult your rhetoric prowesses,” Max intervened, “But I don’t think you would have pulled it off while wearing your tight swimsuit and glitter all over your chest.”

“They’re all terrible people, Abigail.” Jack intervened. “Don’t trust them.”

A little overwhelmed by the conversation, Abigail nodded at Jack, which made Idelle shake her head. 

“So, Abigail, right?” Silver continued, apparently used to always, always speak, “What does a nice girl like you doing in such a company?”

“I’m on vacation here.” She replied, trying to maintain eye contact with those intense blue eyes. 

“Arf, I wish I had vacation.” Idelle complained. 

“You have a nice accent, Abigail, where are you from?” Max asked. 

“London. I study here.”

“I take it back, I don’t want vacation if I ever have to go near anything remotely like school ever again.” Idelle said. 

“So, how exactly did you meet Jack and Anne, all the way from London?” Silver asked, frowning despite his smile, genuinely curious. 

“Well, my roommate, Eleanor, knows…” Abigail started explaining, but immediately stopped after a wave of cold abated on the group. She looked around her, wondering what she had said. She looked at Jack for help: “Come on guys, she has been Eleanor’s roommate for a year, she deserves a break.”

“I didn’t know Eleanor was here.” Max said, frowning a little. 

“She arrived yesterday. Now, you all know how Anne and I feel about Eleanor, but Abigail has been nothing but a sweetheart since the minute she set her tiny feet on that island. Plus, she helped bring the pearls in.”

“You did?” Max asked, visibly surprised. Abigail just nodded, taking a sip of her beer. 

“Well, well, well, what have got here? A wolf in sheep’s clothing?” Silver teased but his eyes were searching as if he was trying to guess a secret she didn’t know she had. 

“So, tell me all the dirty details about how it is to live with Eleanor.” Idelle said, wrapping an arm around Abigail and leaning into her, looking like she was just let in in a conspiration. 

“There… isn’t much to tell… We study a lot…”

“I mean, does she bring a lot of guys home? What are they like?”

“Does she bring girls home as well?” Max suddenly asked. “I’ve always wondered.” 

“Do you bring a lot of guys home as well?” Silver asked, with a small almost terrifying smile on his face, like he had finally found the secret. 

“She doesn’t have to answer this.” Anne suddenly cut in. “Let the girl breathe.” 

“Alright, alright.” Idelle conceded, removing her arm. 

“Why don’t we have a party tomorrow afternoon, around this hour, between our shift and yours?” Jack intervened. “So we can all show Abigail how we have a good time in Nassau?”

“I’ll drink to that!” Idelle said, finishing her beer. 

“Do you mean, at Vane’s house?” Max asked, doubtful. 

“Yes, why not?”

“I’m not sure he’d welcome us.” Max replied, pointing at Silver and at herself with her bottle. 

“Nonsense, just bring beer, don’t break anything, Silver don’t bring your boyfriend, and it’ll be fine. We can invite other people so you can blend in better.”

“Okay, then we’ll come around. With beer. And without the boyfriend.” Silver promised. “Now, I think we all have a few hours of sleep to catch up before work so, we’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Max, Idelle, and Silver rose, gathering the empty bottles and wiping the sand from their skin. 

“Abigail, it’s been a pleasure to meet you,” Silver said with a wide smile. “Can’t wait to hear more about you tomorrow. Be careful with these two.”

“Nice to meet you. I will.” Abigail answered shyly, finding it difficult to raise her voice above a whisper.

“See you soon!” Idelle waved at her with a wink, earning a stare from Max as they walked away. 

Abigail looked back at Jack and Anne as soon as their three friends were gone, still unsure about what had happened. 

“There’s usually like that.” Jack answered. “You get used to them.”

“Are they all…?” Abigail started, not knowing how to formulate it. 

“Prostitutes?” Jack supplied. “No. They work at the Benbow’s Inn. Max just got promoted to manager, which is actually a huge step in making the place more tolerable. We all know that she’ll end up owning the entire place one day. Only a matter of time now. Idelle is… an unrecognized genius, truly. She does three pole dance numbers a night and no one makes a better cocktail than her. No one. How she picks up so many skills without anyone to teach her? No one knows. And then there’s Silver. What does Silver even do?” Anne shrugged at Jack’s question. “Well basically wherever he goes the party goes. He does pole dance too. He strips sometimes, on special nights. He has been seen accepting some… more special clients. Not a lot tho, since he’s had this boyfriend of his. Don’t know if Flint is making him take less clients but I doubt anyone can _make_ Silver do things.”

“ ‘Started up as a cook.” Anne added, scoffing. 

For some reason, that made Jack laugh out loud and even Anne smiled a little. 

“Even Vane drunk off his ass at 3am can cook better than Silver.”

***

Miranda finished signing the last paper of this dossier and closed it with the usual mixed feeling at the end of the day of satisfaction and frustration. It was an usual feeling that Miranda ignored in order to organize the tasks that have been done and the tasks that she will have to get to tomorrow. 

Lambrick waved at her when she passed by his office on her way out and she tried to be out before he could spark up a conversation. 

She didn’t succeed. It really wasn’t her day. 

As Lambrick talked and talked about who was eating everyone’s yogurt in the office’s fridge (it was Mr. Underhill who thought he could fool them all but no one can fool Miranda) they walked to the parking lot. 

The sun hadn’t even begun to set but there was a slight chill in the air which announced the evening. Miranda welcomed the evening breeze against her skin after having spent most of the day inside. She walked slowly, enjoying the evening, only half-listening to Lambrick. 

She never had such evenings in London. It amused Miranda to no end, but all the people she talked to who were born on the island took its wonders for granted and never quite imagined how different other places are. They knew that some people cannot go to the beach everyday but they didn’t know what it is like. Miranda has been in Nassau ten years and she still wondered at being able to go swimming in the sea before work. 

Now, she knew that Lambrick was rambling because he was working up the courage to ask her out. He was probably the only one here who had worked the courage to even court her. Miranda sighed internally. She shouldn’t have gotten drunk at that New Year’s Eve office party. She had kissed him, things had gotten a little heated, he had come in his pants before she could even open them and she had gotten a cab home, feeling more lonely than ever and slightly disgusted with herself. The next morning, she had a serious talk with Lambrick, assuring him it was a drunken mistake and she didn’t feel anything for him and didn’t want to pursue this… 

She doubted he had understood her. She thought she was usually very clear on those matters.

As she tried to look attentive, her eyes wandered. Next to the office was the lingerie shop that Miranda liked so much, and the over-priced café in which all the white-collar workers could look hype and serious, and then the tiny stationery store… 

Wait. 

She knew that small figure, browsing the journals near the shop’s window. 

Or at least she thought she did. She was wearing an eggshell blue dress and her long dark hair was gently caressing her shoulders, hiding her face from Miranda’s eyes. 

And yet. 

Yet she could swear it was Charles Vane’s young friend. 

She was too far to wave at her and even if she were close enough, the girl looked too focused on the journals to even notice her. It was endearing really. 

And also provided the perfect excuse to ditch Lambrick on the parking lot. 

“I’m really sorry, but I’ve just seen my friend over here in the stationery store. I’ll just pop in to say hello.” And right before he could say anything about waiting for her, she added, “It might take a while, we do have a lot to catch up on. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a nice evening.” 

With a tight smile, Miranda left Lambrick standing there while she walked to the stationery shop. Even if the chat with the girl didn’t go well it would still be better than listening to Lambrick for a minute longer than necessary. 

She pushed the door open, waved at the clerk, and walked right up to the girl. 

“Good evening” She said with a smile, making the girl jump a little. 

The girl looked up at her and, for a minute, Miranda felt… swept away. 

It hadn’t happened in a long time. 

But those pale green eyes and those pale lips, slightly pink, probably from where she had bitten them, not so long ago… 

The girl took a second to recognize her and when she did, she blushed slightly.

Oh, what a treat.

“We sort of met yesterday, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced, which is a shame. I’m Miranda. Delighted to meet you.”

She extended a hand, which the girl took a second to take and a second longer to let go. Truth be told, the handshake was slightly ridiculous, but Miranda wanted to make sure the girl noticed that she didn’t have a ring on her finger. Now would be the time to repair this morning’s blunder. 

“I’m Abigail. I’m sorry we didn’t take the time to come and introduce ourselves, Eleanor and I were…”

“No, don’t worry about it, you were under no obligation to come and introduce yourselves. I just wanted to. So, how do you like Nassau so far?”

“Oh, it’s very nice. Jack and Anne took me on the train ride this morning.” Abigail answered, her eyes lit up and Miranda couldn’t help but smile at that. How she wanted to cup her cheeks and bring her in…

“It’s very nice of them. Where are they now? Have they abandoned you?” Miranda joked.

“Oh no, not at all,” Abigail jumped to their defense. “They’re going to pick me up soon, they just had… stuff to do… They said it could be… boring… So I’m just waiting here.” 

Abigail was new to those secrets. She was stammering, looking elsewhere, getting nervous. Miranda smiled at that. She knew that Jack and Anne were selling what they were growing in Vane’s back garden. Jack was always asking her botanical questions and, although they never spoke about it, it ceased to be a secret quite early on. She was glad Jack didn’t bring Abigail to wherever they were going to sell it. 

“So, how is the journal hunt going?” Miranda asked, redirecting the conversation to safer grounds. She wondered if getting Abigail comfortable would take as much time as it had taken her to get James to relax. Maybe. It wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy a nice challenge once in a while. 

“Well, they’re all very nice, I must say.” Abigail answered, chuckling at her own inability to choose. “I’m having difficulty to choose just one.”

“What are you looking for in a journal?” Miranda implicitly proposed her help. Choosing a journal with a younger girl felt slightly surreal but she would pick that over any conversation with Lambrick. She would pick that over a lot of things, truly. 

Abigail seemed troubled for a moment but still answered: “I like when there are a lot of pages. I don’t really enjoy feeling… restricted. At least not in my diary.” She said, smiling at her own fanciful notions, “Lines are a must, and I don’t really like bright colours for the cover. I know this is all very specific…”

“Well a diary is quite personal, it’s quite normal to be specific.” Miranda answered, looking at the journals in front of her, giving Abigail the illusion of a respite from her focus. Sometimes people let go more easily when they feel like they’re not looked at. “So, are you a writer, Abigail?” She asked, wondering what the girl could be writing about. 

“Oh no, not at all. I just… like to keep a diary. It’s nice to remember exactly how I felt at one point. And it helps… settle things in my mind… I’m sorry I must be an awful bore.” Abigail scoffed, right at the moment when she was getting incredibly interesting. People set up those mechanisms: persuading themselves, and the others, that what they felt the deepest was just boring details. 

“You’re most assuredly not. How do feel about floral motifs?” Miranda assured. 

“Oh I love those!” Abigail said, looking up from the plain leather-brown journal she had been looking at. 

“How about this one then?” Miranda asked, handing her her finding. 

Abigail hesitated for a second, and Miranda couldn’t help but think about a cat, wondering if she could trust a human being handing her food. 

This was getting out of hand. 

Abigail finally took the journal, avoiding any sort of contact, and looked it all over, letting her fingers caress the cover. It was a plain journal with roses motifs looking somewhat washed out, giving it a vintage look. She opened it and touched the pages as well. 

Miranda looked at her. She was incredibly pretty. All pale skin and rounded shoulders that looked porcelain-soft, contrasting heavily with windswept black hair, let free, which underlined the minimal ‘vacation’ vibe which exuded from her. 

She wondered how she looked the rest of the year. 

“You’re from London, aren’t you?” Miranda asked. 

“Yes, I am, actually. Was it the accent?” Abigail asked and Miranda felt somehow… delighted that she got the girl to smile. 

“I’m from London too. I can always recognize a Londoner when I see one.” Miranda teased with her mysterious smile which made Abigail blush a little. 

“I would have never thought you were from London… Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound rude!” The blush on her cheeks deepened and Miranda could see that the blush went further down on her neck and… she did her best not to look. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve left London ten years ago: I guess it has been washed off completely. So, what do you do in London?”

“Oh, I’m a student.”

Oh what a delight, Miranda thought. What a delight. 

“Let me guess…” Miranda pretended to think about it. “Literature.”

“A double cursus: classics and literature.” Abigail answered, almost playfully, as if she had taken some delight in proving Miranda she could not be read that easily. 

“That’s an interesting choice. Neither are quite easy, that said. You must not being getting a lot of sleep, do you?” 

“Well, let’s say that vacation is always welcome.”

A moment of silence fell on them, as if they had exhausted all the polite topics of conversation but didn’t want to end the conversation here. 

“So, how do you like the journal?” Miranda asked and Abigail looked at her hands, as if the journal had just materialized here. The girl smiled and closed it, tightening her grip on it a little: 

“I think we have a winner.” She said with a sincere smile. 

“I’m glad. Well, I must dash… Are you sure Jack and Anne are going to get you? I can always drive you home if you want to. I believe we’re going the same way.” She teased. 

“That’s very nice, thank you, but I promised I would wait for them here. I believe we still have to get the groceries from the fridge at Jack’s work. But it was very nice of you to ask.”

“Of course. Well, Abigail… I’d be glad to have you over for tea one day, so don’t hesitate to swing by my house anytime you see my car in the driveway. It would give me great pleasure.” Miranda said, purposefully letting the accent fall on ‘have you’ and ‘pleasure’. She had established the first contact, friendly conversation, but she couldn’t let Abigail forget that it had all started with Miranda smiling at her as Abigail stretched and moaned. 

Miranda was truly glad, however, to have had this conversation. She walked out the shop, feeling somewhat… refreshed. She hadn’t had such a playful and almost carefree conversation in quite some time. Selecting journals with a young girl. It was still too early to say whether Abigail was just intrigued by her or was truly interested, maybe Abigail herself didn’t know, but all those matters set aside, Miranda was glad she had walked in the shop. She could feel a smile tugging at her lips as she walked to her car. Even her steps felt lighter, more graceful, even after an entire day at work. 

As she reached her car, her keys in hand, she looked back. Abigail was looking at her, clutching the journal with one hand, while she was pretending to look at pencils with the other hand. They made eye contact for half a second before Abigail realized she had been caught staring and looked down again. Miranda could picture that blush from here. She smiled to herself and got into her car. 

Not that day a day after all.


	3. Chapter 3

_“I don’t know how to feel about anything. Everything keeps shifting and I feel like I’m just… caught in a river and, like Tantalus, every time I try to catch a branch, or anything that remotely looks like an explanation, it just withdraws, shrinking away from me._

_First I see her having coffee with a man early in the morning, then she’s asking me to drop by her house whenever I want to. She didn’t even pretend to look around in the store, she just… walked straight at me._

_I’m probably imagining things. I’m letting my own… wishes… take over the perfectly reasonable explanation right in front of me. She is just a very friendly, perhaps lonely, neighbour who wants to have a chat with the new girl next door. I’ve been reading too many gothic novels. I’m behaving like a mad woman, running through the corridors of a castle, imagining it’s a labyrinth because she’s not paying enough attention to see that there is a perfectly understandable network of corridors if only she stopped running around for a minute._

_Being surrounded by couples do that to you, I imagine. I can hear Eleanor and Charles go at it (how vulgar it feels to write that down, but it’s how Anne puts it) for most of the night. And just most of the time, really. I understand they hadn’t seen each other for a long time. I do hope they won’t fall ‘out’ during our stay here. Things would get awkward otherwise. Jack and Anne are slightly less… couple-y? But they still share something… that is hardly definable but is ever-present whenever you look at them. They don’t need to hold hands or smile at each other to be utterly… together._

_I guess this makes me crave a sort of connection that I never sought out with anyone before. I used to wish ardently for a Prince Charming when I was younger, but that had more to do with fancying myself a heroine than actually falling in love and being loved. Now, I feel like I want to fill in another narrative. The ‘went on vacation to the Bahamas and lost my virginity here’ narrative. And Miranda only had to show a modicum of interest in me before my mind filled in the rest. I wonder how she would feel about it, should she come to know my thoughts._

_Would she be disgusted? I doubt that. Would she pity me?_

_I don’t know. I should let it go. Just… enjoy things just as they are._

_Tomorrow, we will have a day-party as Jack calls it, so their friends who work at night can attend, at least for a little while. Jack told me that the day party would continue all night anyway. They just start earlier. Jack promised he would take me to the garden shop in town, where a friend of his works. He said they have a lot of little cacti that he thinks I would like. He said that Anne liked them but Anne just said ‘No.’ so I think we’re going mostly for her. Charles protested loudly upon hearing the plan, saying: “If you go there and I come back to find the house looking like a greenhouse, you’re both out of here.”_

_I daresay they have some experience with this.”_

 

Abigail woke up later than she usually did. She did try to keep a solid eight hour of sleep but during the finals, this resolution had mostly gone to hell. She was happy to catch some sleep here, waking up to the bright light of day and the cloudless sky. 

Everyone in the house was still asleep so she tiptoed in the bathroom and took advantage of not getting caught in the ‘We’re leaving in ten minutes’ rush to shower thoroughly, looking at the shower products Eleanor already had all over the place. 

Abigail remembered, as she was stepping out of the shower, the garter set Eleanor had showed her on her phone. It had looked so delicate, so beautiful. And incredibly sexy. She wondered if Eleanor had worn it for Charles yet. How Charles had looked at her while she was wearing it. 

Abigail looked at herself in the mirror which only reached to the top of her shoulders. She wondered what she would look like in a similar garter set. Probably not as good as Eleanor, that was for sure. She had done more stress-eating than she had intended to do during the finals and it was starting to show. Eleanor was the sportive one. She woke up with a hangover, complained for two hours and then went on a run. Abigail stayed home and, while she always did her best to eat healthy, no one (certainly not her) could resist pouring way too much sugar into her coffee and eating too many shortbread finger biscuits while drinking tea home alone on a Friday night.

Abigail shook her head and closed her eyes to ward off these thoughts. She didn’t need to compare herself. She didn’t need to think about how she would look in a garter set. Those were idle thoughts she didn’t need right now. Right now, she needed to dry her hair before she turned the bathroom floor into a swimming pool. 

After carefully selecting a long white dress with small, dark red floral pattern for the party, Abigail wandered to the kitchen, her hair still slightly wet but drying fast in the heat of the summer day. She was starting to be hungry and was craving tea. What wouldn’t she give for some ice cold earl grey with a hint a honey? She ate some chocolate cookies that were laying around in the kitchen while rummaging the cabinets in order to find some tea. She doubted the fearless Charles Vane had loose leaf tea somewhere in his house, but, maybe, with some luck, she would find some long forgotten tea bags… 

She did her best to ignore the kitchen window, through which she could see Miranda’s kitchen, but she could feel her eyes wander, from time to time, like a compass needle, always pointing North. She could feel her shoulders tense as she did her best not to look. 

After a while, however, she had to admit defeat. A burning defeat. 

There was absolutely no tea in Charles Vane’s house. 

Now that she was wondering, had she seen any tea in the supermarket she went to with Jack and Anne? Surely, no supermarket could lack tea, even in the Bahamas… 

And, as if that first defeat hadn’t been enough, she caught herself turning to look through the window before she could stop. 

Miranda was by the sink, right in front of her window, staring at her. 

Abigail jumped a little at that. She pressed a hand to her beating heart and laughed a little at her own surprise. When she looked back again, Miranda was still looking at her, with a smile on her lips. She was wearing her hair down, which Abigail was coming to enjoy very much, and what looked like a silk black nuisette. But Abigail didn’t want to dwell on that. 

Miranda squinted her eyes, inclining her head a little, silently asking what she was doing, if Abigail could read lips right. 

There was something childish in talking though windows, which made Abigail smile a little while she was thinking on a way to answer. She finally mimicked drinking tea out of a imaginary cup, unconsciously adding the gesture of holding the saucer. Then, she pointed to the cabinets around her, shaking her head. She laughed a little at her own antics. 

Miranda smiled back at her before looking at something that Abigail couldn’t see. For a second, the young woman wondered if the ginger man was next to her, out of sight. Then, Miranda pulled out a tea box, silently proposing it to Abigail. The young woman hesitated a second. Could she? Could she accept this invitation for tea? Could she go to someone’s house while barely knowing that person? How could she tell Charles she had gone to his neighbour’s house? 

Had Miranda asked her only out of pity for her tea-less morning? 

Was it wise to go to her house, knowing how Miranda made her feel? 

Seeing the uncertainty in Abigail’s face, Miranda resigned herself to her fate and got ready to smile as best she could. 

Just at this second, she saw Abigail shake her head yes, with a shy smile on her lips. Heat bloomed in her chest unexpectedly and her smile was a sincere one. She held out her fingers while mouthing: ‘Ten minutes’ to which the young woman nodded again with, Miranda was delighted to see, excitement. 

Miranda looked at herself, swearing under her breath and darting off to the bathroom for a quick shower, in order to look presentable. She got out, her hair in a bun, her towel wrapped around her to prepare the tea platter. She adorned it with some fresh fruit she found laying around, the two transparent glass tea cups she always used for cold tea, putting a honey pot and some sugar next to it. She then went to her bedroom where she looked at her wardrobe for a while before selecting some light grey loose trousers with a brown leather belt and a white t-shirt which complimented her collarbones. She looked at her watch before rushing out to the garden where she cut some of her lavender and a nice red camellia for the tea platter. 

She was about to retrieve the iced tea she always made herself from the fridge when she heard a shy knock at the door. Feeling like a teenager going on a date, she closed the fridge door again and walked (somewhat briskly but that was no one’s concern) to the door, tugging her hair from the bun and letting it all fall on her shoulders. 

She opened the door to see Abigail, still in her wonderful white dress, hair mostly dry, with a touch of mascara and even a nice dark red lipstick which matched the floral motifs of her dress. It was very simple, and mostly very innocent, betraying a budding knowledge about what suited her, but it felt like a very powerful spell on Miranda. Abigail smiled shyly at her, drawing her eyes back on those wonderful lips. 

“Please, come in.” Miranda invited her, withdrawing just enough to let her guest in before closing the door behind her. 

She had even put on some perfume. Something rose-based. Miranda couldn’t help but smile at that. 

“I figured we could have tea in the back garden, if you don’t mind? The apple tree provides a nice shade in which we could sit.” She said, while walking back to the fridge to get the teapot. 

“I’d like that.” Abigail said in a soft voice, taking in her surroundings. Miranda let her, pretending to be busy with the tea things for a little while.

“Would you mind taking the platter? I’ll open the back door.” 

They walked to the back garden and sat down under the apple tree, on the mat Miranda spread out for them. Abigail took a minute to arrange her dress around her and Miranda had to do her best not to stare at her delicate hands. 

She poured the tea: “It’s home-made green iced tea and fruits from the garden. You can add honey if you want to, here, or sugar.” She explained. Abigail nodded before putting some honey in her tea before sipping it. 

“It’s really good. Don’t laugh at me for this, but, when I saw there was no tea, I started wondering if there was any tea here. It was quite ignorant of me.” Abigail said with a little depreciative smile. At least, she was speaking to her, even about things she found embarrassing. It was good. They were slowly making progress. 

“Well, we do have tea, but it’s certainly not London. There’s a very nice tea shop downtown, I could take you there if you want.” Miranda replied, jumping on the occasion with an affected nonchalant air. 

“I would like that. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve bought nice tea. I mostly buy tea bags in bulk these days.”

“A grave mistake,” Miranda answered with a smile. “There are two things one should never neglect buying: good tea and good lingerie.”

Abigail looked down on her tea cup, a shy smile playing on her lips: “That sounded like something Lord Henry would say.” She replied. 

“Is that how you see me, Abigail?” Miranda asked, lying down, supported on her elbow, chin on her open palm. She enjoyed the way Abigail’s name felt on her lips and watched how the girl’s eyes shyly looked at her, taking her in. 

“Well, I believe this is how you would want me to see you. At least for now.” She replied. 

Oh. 

Interesting. 

Miranda sipped her tea, locking her eyes with Abigail’s. 

“So, what do you enjoy most about Oscar Wilde?” Miranda asked, redirecting the conversation. It was too early to discuss roles yet, too early to ask the question that burned her lips: if I am Lord Henry, does that make you Dorian Gray? 

“It may sound cliché, but mostly how… misread he is. We all have this… picture, quite literally, of him in mind, we have expectations… And therefore, when we get to actually read him, we’re somehow always… surprised. It’s like… we thought someone had blue eyes but when we come close, we realize they actually have grey eyes. It feels like… getting closer, somehow… I don’t know, it’s all… pretty useless. Of course, I don’t say this in my essays…”

“This is not an essay, Abigail. I’m not here to judge you on your knowledge of rhetorical devices, or what critics you’ve read, or anything your teachers would judge you for. I’m not here to judge you at all. You can always be frank with me.” Miranda said, looking at Abigail who did her best to hide the too furtive emotion in her eyes. 

“Well, what do you like most about Oscar Wilde?” Abigail asked back. 

Miranda thought about it. Usually, she would go for something scandalous, or something that would make her audience interested or fascinated, or whatever she needed them to be for the evening. But now, under the apple tree with Abigail who, she had just quite unexpectedly proven, would take no fancy bullshit, she found herself truly thinking about it. 

“Well… I’d say, it’s the way he sees beauty. Beauty as useless. Beauty for beauty’s sake. Not only in his aphorisms and his witty retorts, but in his novels. I think you can remember, but right from the first chapter of The Picture of Dorian Gray, you can see in his description of the studio, how pointless it seems right at the beginning of the novel, and yet…” Miranda closed her eyes for a moment, digging in her memory before quoting: ‘The studio was filled with the rich odor of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink- flowering thorn.’ ” She paused again, her hand absent-mindedly playing with her teacup, enjoying each word and feeling it resonate with the leaves of the apple tree and the bright blue sky. “And yet it leads to the deepest enjoyment of beauty.” She concluded, almost to herself, before turning back to Abigail. 

The young girl was looking at her, like she had just witnessed something miraculous. She was sitting still, almost frozen, hands gripping her own teacup like it was her only salvation, lips slightly parted and chest heaving just a little. Miranda would not have noticed, had she not let her eyes wander. 

There she was, Miranda thought. But she mustn’t overwhelm her too quickly. Miranda sat upright, letting the moment pass: “How is your tea?” She asked. 

Abigail took a moment to answer: “Fine, I mean, it’s great, really. Very good.” The girl stammered before taking another sip to hide her embarrassment. 

“I’ll take you to the tea shop downtown.” Miranda promised. “What are your plans today?”

“Oh, I… We’re having a day party today… Did Jack tell you? I’m afraid the music is going to be a little loud…”

Miranda laughed a little: “Don’t worry about that: the music doesn’t really bother me. I would have moved out a long time ago if it did. No, it livens up the place. There is no use in staying in line all the time if it makes you miserable.” Miranda said with a pointed smile. 

Abigail had trouble maintaining eye contact, Miranda was beginning to understand. 

As if on cue, the first notes blared out of Vane’s very expensive sound system, making Abigail jump a little. Miranda longed to put her hands on her shoulders and gently rub her arms. 

“I should not keep you. You should go enjoy your party.” 

Abigail nodded, putting her teacup back on the platter. She seemed… a little lost. Perhaps even disappointed? This would not stand: “If you have a moment, do tell me, and I’ll take you tea shopping. A vacation without tea doesn’t sound like a very nice vacation at all.” Miranda added to soothe her. 

Abigail smiled and when she left, her long white dress followed the curve of her thighs, making Miranda stare longer than utterly necessary. When Abigail was finally out of sight, she closed the door before closing her eyes.

***

Meanwhile, Abigail entered the house where some of the guests were already here. She waved at them before running up the stairs to re-apply her lipstick and try to do something with her hair. She found Eleanor trying out clothes in the hallway mirror, the only full-length mirror in the house. 

“Hey, where the fuck were you? Jack had a small panic attack when we found you weren’t in your room.” Eleanor asked, putting on her daisy dukes. 

“I was just having tea with the neighbour. She’s nice.”

Eleanor scoffed before removing her tight clear blue shirt and opting for a white spaghetti-straps tank top which, seeing her grimace, did not fit the bill either. “Of course you would want to be fucking nice to everyone, even the boring old fucking neighbours.”

“She’s not boring.” Abigail retorted, before she could think of it. “And neither is she old. She’s older than me, yes, but she’s not old.” 

Eleanor stood still for a few seconds, visibly stunned, and Abigail immediately apologized: “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Eleanor answered, with a curious smile. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you defend anyone with such… passion. Except for Virgil maybe.” 

“I think you should wear the white tank top under your lace over-the-shoulder white top. It would look nice.” Abigail said, re-directing the conversation. 

“Alright.” Eleanor conceded, still looking at her friend like she had something to hide. Which Abigail did not. She had absolutely nothing to hide to Eleanor. “Why are you up here anyway? You look ready for the party.” 

“I just wanted to do something with my hair now that it’s dry.”

“Oh no, you shouldn’t. You look like a fucking Maenad like that, all wild hair and floral dress. You should keep you hair down. It’s a day party, not a formal event.” Eleanor commented, shaking her head. 

“Are you sure? I mean, I look like I didn’t get ready at all.” 

“You look nice, Abi. Trust me.” Eleanor answered. “Now, go back downstairs and tell Jack you’re alright before he ends up doing something stupid like call the police to report a missing person.” She encouraged. 

After touching up her mascara and her lipstick, Abigail did go back downstairs where more people had arrived. She smiled politely at some and made her way through the people by the bay window to go to the back garden where the pool and the music were. 

“There you are,” Anne said, appearing out of nowhere. “You fucking scared us.” The woman gripped her arm, dragging her out of the way to where Jack was clutching to his phone. 

He looked so relieved to see her that Abigail nearly laughed nervously. She bit her cheek hard not to do that. She didn’t think Anne would react kindly to that. 

“Ah, there you are!“ Jack said in a breath. “Are you alright? Please remind me to get you a cellphone tomorrow or something. Don’t ever scare us like that!” 

“I’m fine,” Abigail protested, trying to get Anne to let go of her arm, which wasn’t happening anytime soon apparently. “I’m sorry I scared you. I wasn’t gone long. Barely an hour. I didn’t think it would be a problem.” Abigail tried to defend herself, suddenly reminded of that one time she had gone to get some food with some friends after a movie and her father had scolded her for not being home by the time she had said she would be.

“Couldn’t have left a note or something?” Anne didn’t back down. 

“I didn’t think anyone would notice. I wasn’t gone long.” 

“Of course we would notice.” Jack answered, frowning slightly. “But we’re glad you’re alright. Please, in the future, tell us when you’re going so we don’t worry.” 

Jack nodded to Anne would let go of Abigail. “We’re not here to play the police, of course you can go wherever you like, but we’d still like to make sure you’re safe.”

“I was right next door, to Miranda’s.” Abigail answered. 

“To Miranda’s house? What were you doing here? Oh wait, never mind, probably none of our business. You’re not being questioned. Just… don’t mention it to Charles ever.”

Abigail nodded and Jack smiled at her. He put one arm around her neck and the other around Anne’s waist, leading them to the countless ice packs where the beers, and most of the people, were. 

“Make room, make room for the VIPs here please.” Jack said before handing the beers to Anne and Abigail. He stayed amidst the guests, catching up with them. Apparently, everyone knew him. 

Anne shook her head before mumbling something about: “Can’t have beer without a smoke, it would be a heresy. I’ll be back in a minute, don’t move.” And heading back inside, leaving Abigail and her beer bottle in the middle of the garden. 

She watched Anne’s retreating back before scanning the little crowd that was steadily gathering in the garden, trying to catch a glimpse of someone she knew. 

“Hey, what’s a pretty girl like you doing all by herself here?” A voice surprised her, making her jump and look around her until she found someone at her side. “With an unopened beer. People these days. No manners.” The man said. 

He was taller than her, but she could see that he was smaller than most of the guests. That being said, he didn’t look any less rough or frightening. He had a smile on his lips that Abigail would have described as nice and easy-going had the man in question not been leaning a little too close for her taste. 

She jumped and leaned away instinctively when he extended a hand to her, palm up, a lighter at the center of his palm. He chuckled and Abigail tried not to think about how he seemed delighted at having scared her. 

“Thanks.” She said, taking the lighter, doing her best not to touch him. She felt her heart beat wildly in her chest. She knew she couldn’t open a beer with a lighter. She could feel her shoulders being so tense it was beginning to be uncomfortable and her hands were slightly trembling. There was something cold under his smile. Abigail would have called him good-looking and maybe even charming, had there not been that coldness lurking under his smile. 

She looked down at her beer and did her best to follow Max’s instructions from the other day. She used her fingers as a lever, but she felt her hands slipping because of the condensation. After two tries, she heard the man chuckling again. 

“You’re cute. A true damsel in distress. Don’t know where they found you.” 

The man gently took the beer and the lighter from her, touching her way more than what was necessary, and with a flick of his wrist, opened the bottle for her. He handed it back to her with a smile. 

Abigail wondered if she was only being put out by the scar across his eye, which would be unfair to the man. After all, she had already seen much worse among Vane’s friend from the short time it took her to get from the living-room to the garden. Maybe the coldness she believed she felt came from here. She decided to try and be nicer. 

“Thanks, that’s nice of you.” She said, trying to smile, taking a sip of her beer. 

He smiled back and she felt that coldness again. She did her best to ignore it. 

“I’m Ned. What’s your name, sweetheart?” He asked. The nickname made her skin crawl. 

It wasn’t the scar. The coldness had nothing to do with the scar. 

“I’m Abigail.” She answered, trying to look around her as discreetly as she could in order to find someone she knew. When she looked back at Ned he was smiling at her again and she heard her heart beat faster. 

“So, did you come here alone?” He asked, taking a step forward, making Abigail take a step back. 

“No, actually, I’m with Jack and Anne. I know several people here.” She said, hoping Anne’s name would be enough to deter him from trying anything. 

But Ned was unimpressed, rolling a cigarette, looking straight at her with an amused smile. It was starting to seriously unnerve her. She took her courage in both hands and said: “They must be waiting for me now. I should go back…”

“Wait, wait, wait, sweetheart, don’t run away from me now. Is it the eye that scares you? Don’t be afraid.” He said, putting the cigarette between his lips, holding her wrist. His grip wasn’t tight but Abigail could tell it would be difficult to wrench her arm away. “We’re just talking, you and I. You seem like a nice girl. Don’t get across many of those around here.” 

Abigail found herself at a loss about what to say. He didn’t seem to be listening to what she was saying. Could she invent a boyfriend on the spot to get him to let her go? “Ned, listen… you’re very nice… But I think that…” Quick, a name, any name, not Jack, not Vane either, everyone knew they already had girlfriends… 

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Vane’s deep gravelly voice intervened. 

Ned immediately dropped his hand. Abigail took a step back towards Vane, away from Ned. The man would have to take another step forward if he wanted to touch her again, which she doubted Vane would allow. 

“Nothing much.” Ned said smiling. “Just having a chat with this shy young lady.” 

“Yeah, it sounded like a real fun chat.” Vane retorted, gently pushing Abigail back while he towered over Ned. “I hope you’re satisfied because this will be the first and last chat you have with her if you want to leave in one piece.”

Suddenly silence fell on the crowd in the garden. Only the music was still playing, no one daring to even move to switch it off. Abigail felt everyone’s eyes on the two men in front of her. 

The smile on Ned’s lips changed imperceptibly and Abigail couldn’t help but take another step back. She could only see Vane’s back from where she stood but she saw how tense he was, ready to strike. When Eleanor had shown her what Vane looked like, Abigail had seen him as one of the bad boys who were truly bad boys, not like the ones fooling around, trying to have a bad boy style to get girls. Vane was the real deal. He didn’t try to look like something. He was. He had scared Abigail and she had thought that Eleanor was mad to go out with him. Then time had passed and Eleanor had shared more pictures and more anecdotes and Vane had seemed to be a genuinely nice person with a mysterious and probably hazardous occupation. 

Now she was staring at the root of what made Vane scary. There were rules. A sort of code. Some things could be tolerated, other could not. The rules were strict and fixed but they were not most people’s rules and straying from those rules deserved an answer. Vane was never messing around. What other people would only hint at, he said clearly. This was one of the rules. 

She understood how appealing that would be to Eleanor. 

Ned put his hands up after a minute: “Alright. Didn’t mean to offend anyone.” 

“Good.” Vane replied before turning his back at Ned and ushering Abigail back inside the house. 

Anne walked to them, looking at Abigail to make sure she was alright. Jack joined her and asked Vane: “What are you going to do about him?” 

“Nothing if he stays in line. Don’t fucking leave her alone.” Vane answered. 

“Abi, Abi, god, are you alright?” Eleanor asked, pushing everyone out of her way. 

Oh, how she hated being the center of all attention. Abigail nodded: “Yes, I’m fine. Thanks Charles.” 

“No worries.” Charles answered and Eleanor looked at him. 

Well the rest of the night seemed planned for the two of them. The tension between the two of them was so dense Abigail was sure she could cut it with a knife. 

To their credit, they spent five more minutes discussing with other guests before Eleanor stood on her tiptoes to whisper in Vane’s ear. They walked back upstairs, hand in hand under everyone’s amused eyes. 

Anne shook her head before finishing her beer, setting it among the impressive pile of empty bottles on the coffee table. Jack lead them to the porch were a smaller group of people had set pillows, blankets and other cushions on the ground before sitting in a circle, sharing bottles and cigarettes. 

“Hey, Abigail!” A familiar voice called. 

Next to his two gorgeous friends, John Silver was sitting, smiling, and looking charming as ever. He pushed the guy with a beard, tattoos, and a heavy accent sitting next to him so Jack, Anne, and Abigail could sit. He passed Abigail a cigarette. Usually, she wouldn’t have accepted it, but she felt a little shaken and she didn’t want to draw too much attention on her. She took it, inhaled and passed it on, feeling the smoke burn her lungs. 

“So, how is my favorite newbie going?” Silver asked, still smiling, always smiling. It reassured her. 

“I’m fine. How are you?” She dared asking back with a smile. 

“I’m very well: I’m surrounded by beautiful girls (that statement was quickly followed by Idelle shouting at him “You have a boyfriend now, John Silver!”) and the day is beautiful and there is plenty of alcohol. The only way this is not the perfect day is that I’m going to work in a few hours so I have to moderate the alcohol consumption.”

Abigail smiled at him. He was being exuberant, a cowboy hat fixed on his shoulder-length curly hair, waxed chest on display, wearing only ripped up and washed off jeans and several necklaces around his neck. 

Silver smiled at her when he caught her staring. He chuckled and Abigail tried not to blush. She didn’t want Silver, but she knew this was what it must have looked like. He only took a sip from a rum bottle that Max had just given him before passing it to Abigail. Emboldened by whatever has been in that cigarette, she took a sip of it as well. It burned her throat but she found that she didn’t mind the feeling. She passed the bottle to Jack. 

“So, how is your vacation going, Abigail?” Silver asked. “I see that you’ve been dragged here by the oldest couple we all know of, but we see you here all alone. How come such a charming person isn’t covered in suitors?” 

“Yeah, don’t even start on that,” Jack intervened. “Charles just had to threaten that new guy, Ned Lowe or something, because he tried to hit on her.” 

Abigail wondered if she could find a casual way to hide herself with her hair. 

“Ned Lowe? Never heard of the guy. Sounds like a real douche. Better off without those guys indeed.” Silver replied, accepting a cigar Max just gave him. 

The conversation drifted off to work at the Benbow’s inn. Max and Silver teased Idelle about a man named Featherstone: “It’s her fiancé.” Silver explained and Abigail couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“Between the two of us, Silver, I don’t think I’m the one with a fiancé.” Idelle retorted, drinking from a bottle of rum. 

Silver laughed at that: “Oh yeah? I mean, with all the money he spent on you, he could have bought you a very very nice ring.”

“And a very nice honeymoon destination.” Max added. 

“Hm. I might reconsider marriage if I can go on vacation after.” Idelle joked. 

“Let’s not forget that we still have time here,” Max declared. “I mean, no one has to hurry into mariage because you found someone that might want to marry you.” 

“You’re only saying this because now everyone is too scared of you to actually ask you out.” Silver teased. “As they should be.”

“Trust me, _mon cher_ , I appreciate the respite.” Max answered, taking the bottle of rum from Idelle.

“Who’s Featherstone?” Someone in the circle asked. Abigail was glad they did. She had to admit she was feeling curious. She accepted the bottle of rum Silver passed her. 

“He might be the only man on Earth who actually means to chill when he says: ‘Come over and chill’ and not ‘I’m going to chill and you’re going to suck me off’ or something.” Idelle answered. 

“He works in the newspaper, the Nassau Daily.” Max explained. “He used to come at the inn from time to time. Like, rough day at work, girlfriend dumped his ass, finally wrote that article, night out with his friends, all that. Good guy. Not very noticeable but a good guy. Never caused trouble. And then, one night, he comes around a little earlier than usual, oh this is going to be funny.” Max stopped to laugh. 

“Come on,” Idelle said, rolling her eyes. 

“No, no, I’ll tell it, I have to tell it.” Max answered, shaking her head. “So, he comes a little earlier than usual. Idelle is still at the bar, so she makes his drink and he’s all: ‘Wow, this is so good, seriously, this is so good’ ” Max imitated a man’s voice. Idelle slapped her thigh playfully. “So he starts ordering cocktail after cocktail to see what Idelle can do. And Idelle takes this super seriously…”

“Of course I take it seriously!” Idelle protested. “The guy comes in and dares question my skill, I’m going to teach the son of a bitch what I can do!” 

“Except the guy doesn’t question it, he knows you’re good, he’s always saying ‘Amazing, amazing!’ And he’s getting more and more drunk and apparently funnier and funnier because Idelle can’t stop smiling. After a while, more and more people are coming in, dancers start doing their numbers, but the guy can’t take his eyes off Idelle.” Max narrated. 

“I was wearing my corset, of course he can’t stop staring, I mean, have you seen those?” Idelle points at her breasts and Abigail has to say, she could understand perfectly. She blushed and looked up immediately. Silver was chuckling next to her but she didn’t know if he was chuckling because he saw or because of something else. 

Abigail had to say she was feeling a little tipsy. She wasn’t sure what she was touching. She felt like she was floating and maybe, gently turning. Everything was buzzing around her and she could feel that she was smiling, at one remove, as if she wasn’t in a body exactly. 

“Everyone has seen those,” Max continued. “So, Idelle has to begin serving other customers, which she does, coming back to Featherstone from time to time to have a nice chat. And there’s this asshole who’s at the bar, who was he even?” 

“No idea, an asshole.” Idelle answered, shrugging. 

“So this asshole decides his second drink is taking too slow. He starts fussing, snapping his fingers at Idelle like she doesn’t have the whole bar to serve. Idelle ignores him, of course, because she can’t work faster than the music. Apparently, waiting two seconds for his drink a Friday night at a bar is an outrage, so he starts yelling at her.”

“He was so fucking rude.” Idelle commented, shaking her head. 

“Idelle tells him to fuck off of course, but the asshole starts to make a scene, insulting her and everything. And then, out of nowhere, Featherstone punches the guy in the face.” 

“Okay, that was fucking sweet.” Idelle conceded, looking down, trying to stop smiling. 

“So, just so you all know, Featherstone is not like, a big buff guy. He’s like average height, not a lot of muscles, not the guy who start bar fights. But he did. He punched the guy because he was rude to Idelle. However, the asshole was way stronger.”

“Featherstone took a serious beating.” Silver nodded. 

“Security had to come in to separate them. Featherstone was pretty beaten up but the asshole was bleeding too. So they throw the asshole out and Idelle calls a cab for her _beau_ before helping him out and inside the cab, and she even pays for his ride home with her tips. Isn’t that beautiful?” Max concluded. 

“The truest love story of the twenty-first century.” Silver pitched in. 

“Fuck you, Silver,” Idelle retorted kindly. “He sent me red roses the next day to say he was sorry he behaved like an asshole. Like, how fucking sweet is that? Plus, it’s not like you have a better story for how you met _your_ boyfriend.”

Max was laughing so much she had tears in her eyes. 

Abigail didn’t know how the bottle of rum had ended back in her hands but she still drank. She was getting used to the burn. She felt like she was watching a play. 

“How did you meet your boyfriend?” She asked Silver. 

“I met him like we all meet the love of our lives: completely drunk.” Silver answered with a smile. 

“Okay but we have to fill her in, she’s new, she doesn’t know who your boyfriend even is.” Idelle said, and that only made Max laugh even louder, her forehead pressed against Silver’s shoulder. Silver tsked at her but was still smiling. “This guy’s boyfriend is the worst cop in Nassau.” Idelle explained, pointing at Silver. 

“Or the best, depending on the point of view.” Silver retorted. 

“Well, for us, he’s the worst cop because he doesn’t let anything slide at. all. Like, any other cop lets you of with a warning if you’re going a bit too fast on the road, or if you’re drunk in the streets. He doesn’t.” Idelle continued. “So, one night, like a year ago, we just got paid, so we were drunk out of our mind. We decided, why did we even decide that? I don’t know, we were drunk, we decided we wanted to go to the swings. But the swings in the park are always broken because between children and drunk people, well, they’re always broken. So Max said: ‘The swings are probably not broken in the elementary school’ and, stupid cunts we are, we went: ‘Yes, Max, you’re a genius, let’s break into the elementary school to go on the swings!’ ”

“In my defense,” Max interrupted, “I didn’t say: ‘Let’s break into the elementary school!’, I just said there were good swings there.”

“Well, you didn’t say no when we climbed over the fence.” Silver reminded her. 

“Never mind, so we broke in the elementary school which is actually super easy once you’re a grown woman, or man, and we went to the swings. Except, we were super loud because swings, you know. So we woke the entire neighbourhood and they called the police. It was so late it was actually early and it was the morning shift. And guess who was on the fucking morning shift? Fucking Flint.” 

“Fucking Flint indeed.” Silver nodded, taking the cigarette Max passed him, but he looked somewhat… lost in thought. 

“So here comes the man in his tight uniform, smelling like coffee and looking annoyed.” Idelle resumes the narrative. “So, Max and I, we were already slightly sick from the swings, and we see a police officer, so, logically, we stop, and we start our usual: ‘Sorry officer, we didn’t mean to disrupt the peace’ and everything. But this one here,” Idelle pointed at Silver with a playful air of reproach, “This one refuses to get off the swing like he’s six. So here were are, Max and I, mortified and still slightly drunk, Flint looking at us like we’re the worst criminals he’s ever seen, and Silver on his fucking swing. Flint tells him to get off the swing but Silver just flats out says no. Flint insists, tells him he’s going to get in trouble for ‘resisting arrest’ or something. Silver, not a care in the world, says: ‘Okay, I won’t resist arrest, but you have to push me first. If you push me, then I’ll come willingly’. All the while giggling because of the double-meaning and because he’s on a swing.” 

“Meanwhile, Flint looks like Silver just insulted his ancestors. He was somewhere between disbelief and pure terrifying anger. Because Silver wanted him to push him on the swing.” Max manages to say right before she ends up laughing so hard she cries again. 

“What did he do? Did he push you?” Abigail asked.

“Flint?” Silver snorted. “Of course not. It would probably kill him to actually push me on a swing. He just went straight in front of me and I swung into him full force. He didn’t move a bit. Like, I could have hit a concrete wall. And I don’t want to share too much information, but well, it is quite hard…” 

Max protested loudly, scrunching her perfect nose, as if the very idea of the infamous Flint shirtless was terrible. 

“So, I hit Flint-the-concrete-wall, and I just fell right off the swing in a very undignified way. To my credit, he did tell me it had hurt and he had bruises all over after that, but I couldn’t have known at the time. He just took me by the arms and made me get on my feet. When that was happening, Idelle and Max were just laughing so hard they didn’t even think of escaping. So Flint took us all back to the station.”

“It’s because we’re your best friends.” Max said. 

“And because it was way too funny not to watch.” Idelle added. “Silver was pouting and complaining for the entire ride to the station: ‘I wanted to go higher on the swing, it’s not a crime now, is it?’ And Flint, instead of letting Silver ramble on, was actually speaking with him: ‘Yes it is a crime when you’re breaking in an elementary school. You could have had glass bottles with you and there could have shards all over the place. You could have brought anarchy on the entire island with your drunken shenanigans.’ ”

“The glass shards were a legit concern, that being said.” Silver said. 

“Yeah, so Flint basically arrested us, kept us in a cell for the rest of his shift and when he left, Mr DeGroot let us go because he didn’t want to deal with us, and now Silver is in love.” Idelle concluded. 

Abigail couldn’t help but laugh a little at that while she was passing the cigarette to Jack who was gently rocking Anne as they talked (well, Jack talked) to the other members of the circle. She imagined Silver swinging full force in a police officer and wondered what the second time they met had been like. 

Outside, the sun was high in the sky and she was starting to wonder if there were ever any cloud in Nassau. It felt slightly like she was in a magical land. 

She laughed at herself. 

A few minutes (a few hours maybe?) earlier, she was afraid of a man in the back garden, and now she was laughing at how lovers first met. It felt like everything was constantly shifting. She could hardly believe she had tea with Miranda right this morning too. It felt like those three events happened to three different persons. 

Abigail felt torn between wanting to laugh, to frown, and to go back upstairs to write it all down in her new diary. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on what was happening. 

“Okay, someone has had enough.” She heard Silver tease gently. She opened her eyes, finding him in the process of standing up. She looked at him, trying to correlate everything. He held out his hand. “Up now. You need some fresh air: we’re going for a walk.” 

He was smiling at her. It wasn’t a smirk. It was just a kind smile. Abigail nodded and took his hand, doing her best to get on her feet without stepping on her dress or on anyone’s hand. Jack looked at her, making sure she wasn’t going right into another situation where Vane would have to intervene, but seemed satisfied to let her go with Silver. 

The young man made sure she was steady on her feet before letting her go. He guided her in the quiet street at the end of which Vane’s house was. The sidewalks were lined with shrubs and tall palm trees. You could smell the sea if you focused. There was a slight breeze but it was mostly quite hot. Abigail put her hair up in what she assumed was a messy bun. Silver kept the pace slow, which made her feel self-conscious somehow: 

“I’m sorry I can’t really hold my liquor. Or anything really. I feel like a fool. I mean, here I am, needing some fresh air after what, a beer and some rum…” She apologized. 

“Don’t worry about that. We all start somewhere. But I feel like I should tell you not to start, like a responsible adult.” Silver joked, pushing his hair back from his face. 

He then started talking about approximately everything. He talked as much as Jack but he talked about a lot of different subjects and Abigail had to really focus in order to try and follow his train of thought. One moment, he was talking about the Sunday morning market and how this stand had the best pineapples, the other moment, he was talking about the surfers who came during surfing season and how it was all basically a treat to the eyes. Then, he was talking about this cooking show he was watching with his boyfriend and how he himself sucked at cooking but James was actually really good at it. 

“Is James your boyfriend? Flint?” Abigail asked. 

“The very same. Actually, you might have seen him around already? He likes lurking around, mostly because he has this dream of catching Vane in the act, and he knows your neighbour, Miranda.”

Abigail looked up abruptly. So Flint was the mysterious man she had seen through the kitchen window! She pondered the matter for a second before asking: “Is he Miranda’s husband? She doesn’t wear a ring.”

“Aha, no, they aren’t. I wouldn’t date a married man. There are limits even to what I’m willing to do. But they are close. I don’t know much and I feel like what I know is actually very… private. But I know that they used to have something. I don’t know what but they were having a sort of relationship once. Not anymore. But they are still very close.” Silver sighed and rubbed at his face. For the first time since she had seen him, Silver did not have a smile on his lips. Abigail tried to push the panic rising in her chest back. She touched his shoulder. 

“It’s alright, I’m sorry.” Silver answered to the touch. “I just tend to get frustrated with it. I mean, I’ve met the man a year ago and we’ve been practically living together for three months and he still hides from me. There is something there, right there that he is not telling me but is at his core. I feel like… he should be Miranda’s husband somehow, but I keep wishing he were mine.” 

Abigail sobered. She felt clear-headed, as if she had never even opened a beer. She looked at the usually care-free young man torturing himself over his feelings towards the ginger man she had seen through Miranda’s window. So there was something here. She had been right to doubt. But it was not what she had imagined. It was way more complicated than the perfectly domestic picture she had caught a glimpse of. 

“Please don’t ever tell I mentioned wanting to marry the man.” Silver added, laughing, but Abigail could hear an edge of… something else… underneath it. “I would never hear the end of it.”

“I won’t,” She promised with a smile. “I know it’s easier to open up to strangers.” She gently squeezed his shoulder with another reassuring smile. 

“Strangers? No… Well, yes, in a way,” Silver protested. “But it isn’t why I talked to you about James. You know Miranda don’t you? You’re interested in her, aren’t you?”

So there it was. Silver had been trying to read her since he saw her with Jack and Anne at the beach. And he had finally come to a conclusion. He was looking at her with amazingly blue knowing eyes and a kind smile. She remembered how she felt when she heard Miranda recite the first sentence of The Picture of Dorian Gray. She had never felt anything like this. She felt herself blush quite violently. Silver chuckled. 

“I knew the moment you said that she wasn’t wearing a ring. But to your credit, I usually know all about people by the second time we meet. The only other person who gave me such a hard time was our favourite police officer.” He explained. 

They both looked at Miranda’s house. Abigail suddenly felt a sort of… connivence… between them. It was as if they were unlikely partners, suddenly bounded together by the mystery surrounding James and Miranda. 

It also meant another thing. 

She could no longer lie about the attraction she felt for Miranda.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy it!

_”I’m trying to make sense of what I’m feeling right now. It all feels confused and thoughts are just going round and round in my head like a flock of lost birds. I’ll try to write it all down in the hopes of clarifying things a little. I do not have much hope but I’ll try._

_I feel like I need to look back in order to understand what is happening now. When my father sat me down one evening, as an afterthought, something he had forgotten to do before he left for Charlestown, he told me that I was going to feel things for boys very soon. Desire of a sexual nature. He told me that this desire was dangerous, and that I shouldn’t indulge in it because it would lead to me getting hurt and many other catastrophes. He told me he didn’t want to see me hurt. I nodded but I remember wondering what he was talking about. It all seemed very unclear, like he was expecting me to already know what he was referring to. I didn’t and, to be fair, I’m not sure if I knew until now._

_This kind of desire never hit me, like it hit so many of my friends. It sounded so alien to me. Some of my friends would talk about an incontrollable urge. It sounded exaggerated and I laughed with them because I thought they were joking._

_They weren’t. I saw friends kiss boys, not because they were overly interested in them, but because they felt this desireI had been warned about._

_People thought I was prude and frigid because I didn’t. It just… didn’t touch me. As time passed and I still couldn’t feel any of it, I had come to the conclusion that I was actually prude and frigid. It bothered me, sometimes. But as soon I imagined holding hands with a boy or kissing one as I could see some girls do, I felt glad that I never had these urges._

_Except for my childhood dreams of princes bringing me away to their kingdoms where I could be free and some of my teachers, who inspired in me an unusual feeling which I can only describe as a thrumming, full-bodied excitement for the unknown being slowly revealed to me, I never felt anything like the desire my father had once warned me against._

_My father was relieved when years passed and I never expressed any interest in any man. My aunt thought this was boring. But I cannot pretend to be interested if I’m really not. Certainly not for the sake of gossip._

_All of that was before Miranda._

_I don’t really know what is happening. It started as an interest like the one I sometimes feel for some of my teachers. Like my latin teacher. I thought it was about the unknown, the age difference, that excited or fascinated me. I had always been a little too curious for my own good, I guess._

_But Miranda is different. She is different from my latin teacher, from anyone who made me curious. She is… something else. She is free. She feels free. Like she knows the secret of life and of the universe and thinks the answer is a happy one. She has read The Picture of Dorian Gray and she remembers the beauty, not the restlessness, the guilt, the corruption, the madness…_

_She quoted Oscar Wilde at me and I felt… I felt something in my chest, just like a lightning bolt. It surprised me. Everything about her is mysterious and secret and I’m drawn to it. I physically feel how drawn to her I am._

_And now, after everything that happened after I left her garden, I find my mind going back to it. Did Eve dream of Eden after being banished? No, I don’t think so. Maybe Adam did. I’m writing pure nonsense. I’m feeling… somewhat bewildered that someone as exceptional as Miranda finds me interesting enough to have tea with. Or maybe she has tea with everyone._

_I find myself wishing for her attention once again. I want to see her again. Watch her. Talk with her. Learn about her. Know what she sees in me. If she sees anything in me._

_This is utter nonsense. I should go to sleep.”_

 

Abigail woke up on her bed, in yesterday’s clothes. Her bare feet were slightly cold but she couldn’t draw them up because of the body next to her. She felt her heart stop beating for a second. She couldn’t remember going to bed with someone. She actually clearly remembered closing her bedroom door, writing in her diary in a haze and then thinking about getting her pyjamas… which she could now see she hadn’t. But nothing in her memory included another person in her bed, and even less someone so familiar as to have their arm slung across her waist and their ankle resting on her calf. 

She looked down at the arm, feeling frozen in panic and then, suddenly, as if someone had switched her panic off, she recognized Anne’s bony fingers and her many rings. Abigail sighed with relief. She gently slithered out of the embrace and practically rolled out of the bed in order to make sure she wouldn’t wake Anne up. Next to her on the bed, without surprise, Jack was sleeping, being Anne’s big spoon, both his arms around her hips, his bare feet snuggly framing the feet that Anne hadn’t been resting on Abigail’s calf. 

Abigail opened the door with as much precaution as she could and nearly ran down the corridor to go to the bathroom which had apparently been freshly cleaned but still faintly smelled of alcohol. 

She could hear Eleanor and Vane having sex in their bedroom. 

Abigail stretched, feeling slightly cranky from the uncomfortable position she had slept in. Nothing a good cold shower couldn’t fix. She drew the shower curtain and jumped. 

A man she had never seen in her life was passed out in a pool of what looked like water but was probably vodka. He was shirtless with questionnable things drawn on his chest and face. He was slightly snoring and didn’t look like he was in any danger so Abigail carefully drew the curtain back in place and decided to go downstairs. 

Some more guests were sleeping in piles on the couch and some were even sleeping on the floor, with a t-shirt as a pillow. On the porch, a couple was looking at the sky in each other’s arms, smoking and kissing. They didn’t see her but Abigail still smiled at them. 

She felt like she was walking in a trance, a sort of half-remembered dream, yawning, avoiding sleeping guests, pushing her unruly hair out of her face. She drank some water in the kitchen, looking out the window to Miranda’s kitchen, but the curtains were drawn. She was probably already at work. How late was it anyway? Abigail couldn’t say. 

She walked out to the garden. No one had threw up in the pool, so that was a plus. Contrary to the rest of the house, the back garden didn’t count any sleeping people. It was probably too cold at night to be out, unless you had the nest of blankets the couple on the front porch had. 

It wasn’t that cold now. It was empty and silent. it felt slightly absurd and other-worldly. 

Abigail felt a smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t know why. 

She sat down at the edge of the pool, gathering her dress up her knees so she didn’t get it wet, she put her feet in the water, welcoming the cool sensation. She looked at the distorted image of her legs, kicking silently underwater, feeling her movements slowed by the resistance. 

Next thing she knew, she was removing her dress and slipping in the pool. It felt cold on her sleep-warmed naked skin but she still let herself slip in the water. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes before letting herself sink to the bottom of the pool. She wondered if it was what it felt like to be in space. Just floating in the dark. Once she was sitting at the bottom, her arms pushing herself down, she opened her eyes, feeling the chlore stinging her eyeballs. She could see the sun beyond the surface of the water, like a luminous inkblot. 

She came up soon after, taking several deep breaths which burned her lungs. She pushed her wet hair out of her face, smiling uncontrollably. She felt her heart beating. She shouldn’t even be here. In the Bahamas. In Charles Vane’s house. Alone in that pool. She was breaking so many rules, most of them unspoken, just expectations that had ended up as unconscious rules before she had noticed. 

She felt carefree and happy, like this moment, her swimming alone in the pool, had stretched beyond the present and was now all that existed. She wondered if that was what Virginia Woolf meant by ‘moment of being’. She swam towards the edge of the pool which she clung in order to rest her legs a little. 

She was immediately surprised by a familiar voice: “Hello Abigail” She heard Miranda say and, as she turned her head slightly to the right, she could see the woman near the small wall that separated the two houses. Her hair was wet and she was in a swimsuit which showed her shoulders and collarbones. Abigail did her best not to stare. 

“Oh, Miranda, hi. Do you have a swimming pool too?” She asked, frowning a little. She hadn’t seen any swimming pool at her house. 

“No, I don’t,” Miranda chuckled, “Why have a swimming pool when the sea is not five minutes away?” 

“I’d agree if I wasn’t in a swimming pool right now.” Abigail answered with a smile. 

“You look like a charming Dryad of the trees this morning.” Miranda complimented. “How come you’re all alone?”

“I’m not.” Abigail answered with a smile of her own. 

Miranda looked at her, her head slightly bend on the side, as if she needed to look at Abigail from a different angle. Abigail remembered the first time Miranda had looked at her, the day she arrived, in the driveway. How disturbing it had felt, to be in the headlights of such a focus. She looked down for a minute, unsure about how to feel, especially after what she had written in her diary last night. 

When she looked up, she saw Miranda staring at her abandoned dress by the other side of the pool. For a moment, Miranda seemed lost in thought and when she looked back at Abigail, there was something slightly different in her eyes. The young woman couldn’t decipher the glance nor the sensations coursing through her as she felt it, almost like a physical touch, on her skin. 

“I’m going to be late for work,” Miranda finally declared. “I’ll see you soon, Abigail.”

It sounded like a promise. The young woman smiled and nodded: “See you soon.” 

***

Minutes later, Charles jumped in the pool in his underwear, splashing water absolutely everywhere, closely followed by Eleanor who plunged gracefully, like a professional swimmer. Charles shouted out to Jack and Anne, daring them to join him in the pool, probably waking the rare neighbours that were still sleeping at this hour. 

“We’re coming, stop shouting!” Jack shouted from the bedroom window. 

The shouting match had also awoken the other guests who were slowly emerging, rubbing sleep from their eyes and discovering what had happened last night. Most of them left after mumbled, sleep-heavy goodbyes, some of them wandered a little in the house, talking and laughing, and finally some joined them in the pool. 

When Charles started a splashing contest, Eleanor swan next to Abigail: “So, how’s the vacation going?” She asked, smiling. 

“It’s going very well.” Abigail answered with a teasing smile. “And I heard you were having fun too.”

“Guilty as charged.” Eleanor laughed. “It’s been a long fucking while since Charles and I have been that… free. It finally feels like a true vacation. Long distance relationships can be sustained, despite what anyone fucking says, but with people like Charles, there’s this entire… wordless communication, that you’re missing when you’re texting and calling. It’s nice to have it back. Urgh, I don’t ever want to fucking leave!” 

She threw her head back to wet her hair and brush it back. Abigail looked at the strands of hair floating at the surface of the water. She wondered if she was imagining everything that was going on with Miranda. Why would such a woman be interested in her? 

What was she feeling for Miranda exactly? What did she want? What exactly did she want? She knew she wanted to know her, but that went far beyond what she had imagined for a two-weeks fling she had incorporated in her cliché narrative. 

“What the fuck are you fucks doing here?” Charles Vane’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts. 

“Charles, always a pleasure to see you!” John Silver exclaimed with a huge shit-eating grin. 

He was, as usual, accompanied by Max and Idelle. They all looked tired and a little tipsy. They obviously came directly after work: John’s chest was still shining with oil and glitter which could also be found in all of their hair. Idelle was wearing very tiny shorts and a corset and Max looked the most professional, despite her tight high-waisted vinyl trousers and black lace bralette. 

No matter how many times Abigail saw them, they always looked like a golden trio of fantasy and mischief. 

“We came here to see if the party had died here.” Max explained. “We needed a little wound-down after the crazy night we had. Mind of we get in?”

They were interrupted by Jack shouting at them to get out of the way. The three of them obeyed immediately, witnessing Jack and Anne running towards the pool before jumping in creating a giant wave which blinded Abigail for a moment. 

“Are you stupid?” She heard Eleanor shout next to her while she was rubbing water out of her face. “There’s water everywhere, you could have slipped and hurt yourself! Or hurt someone else!”

“We didn’t tho.” Anne only answered while Jack was splashing Charles. 

“This dress is soaked now.” Idelle declared.

“It’s Abigail’s I believe.” Max answered. 

“Hey, Abigail, mind if I move your dress somewhere else? Maybe it can dry and people won’t trip on it.” 

“Of course.” The young woman answered, nodding at the same time because she wasn’t sure her voice could carry over Charles fake-drowning Jack. 

Half the pool fell silent as Max and Silver undressed, throwing their clothes on the chairs near the wall. Idelle gently laid out Abigail’s soaked dress on one of the chairs before removing her corset and her shorts, revealing a thong and a simple bralette for underwear. Some people whistled at them but Silver just gave them the finger. 

Idelle slipped in the pool next to Abigail: “So, if your dress is all the way there, what are you wearing?” She greeted. 

Abigail couldn’t help but blush. She stammered: “I’m not naked in the pool. I’m just in my underwear.” 

Idelle gently snapped Abigail’s bra strap with a smile. “So I see. So… Abigail… You’ve been here three days and you’ve been real silent.” Idelle said, very seriously. Abigail threw a glance about and saw that actually a lot of people were looking at both of them. She couldn’t help but blush. 

She wished she were having tea with Miranda under the apple tree. 

Silver was smiling to himself and Max was looking at him with suspicion. 

“Leave her be,” Eleanor intervened. “Abi is a good girl. She doesn’t have anything scandalous to say to feed your gossip.”

Idelle raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t look away from Abigail who had just realized that, if she lowered her eyes, she had a nice view on Idelle’s very impressive breasts, which didn’t help her blushing. Just like Silver’s naked waxed chest, Abigail didn’t want to touch it or do anything with it, but she was painfully conscious of what it looked like. 

“Well, if your roommate says so…” She concluded with a mischievous smile. She played with a strand of Abigail’s hair for a few seconds before swimming back to Silver and Max with a wink. 

The attention was drawn elsewhere as Silver took the party away from Abigail. She was left with Eleanor, watching as the others were having a very serious splashing fight. Abigail noticed Idelle talking with Max, at the other hand of the pool. 

Finally, Jack admitted defeat, dragging Anne away from her opponent and out of the pool. He laid on the grass, near the shade the house provided so Anne could lay next to him without burning in the sun. In under five minutes, they were napping. Abigail looked at Vane swimming towards Eleanor while John was mockingly humming the Jaws theme and decided to join Jack and Anne. 

She walked timidly towards the shade, not knowing whether she was welcome or not. She felt like she was intruding on them so she kept a little distance, sitting in the shade before lying down on the grass, trying to make it comfortable. 

“Jack, you’re going to fucking burn. Get in the fucking shade.” Anne mumbled from where she was tucked under his arm. 

Jack mumbled about getting a tan but ended up moving to get in the shade. He saw Abigail and shook his head indulgently: “Don’t stay here on your own,” He told her. “Who knows what creep will spring up from the grass just to come and talk to you.” He joked as he laid down on Anne’s other side. She rolled to face him and resume her nap pressed against his side.

Abigail joined them and Jack mentioned for her to use his arm as a makeshift pillow. She hesitated a little, saying something about crushing him, to which he chuckled, which Anne felt and she groaned a very curt: “Stop talking I’m trying to fucking sleep.” which ended all conversation. 

Not five minutes later, Anne’s sleep was disturbed again by John Silver (renamed by her “John Fucking Silver”) joining them : “Oh, a cuddle party no one told me about. Are you trying to alienate me? I’m sad.” He said while he laid down next to Abigail, poking her shoulder with a false air of reproach. She squeaked before she could think better of it and tried to escape his teasing, knocking her elbow into Jack’s ribs, which made him jump and wince and disturbed Anne once more. She looked absolutely murderous which made Abigail apologize profusely. 

Silver chuckled: “She hasn’t killed me yet, she won’t kill you.”

“Don’t try your luck.” Anne retorted seriously. 

Abigail re-arranged herself so she could face John. He was playing with his necklaces and looked almost… concerned… which was definitively a strange look on him. Abigail used her own arm as a pillow and whispered: “What is it?”

Silver immediately mirrored her position and answered: “There’s another man.”

“What?” 

“I haven’t had the time to look into it, but there’s another man that James knows and I could bet Miranda knows him too.”

“Like… a relative?”

“No, a lover. Definitively a lover. I saw it in one of James’ books. It’s in the shelf he shares with Miranda: sometimes she comes to borrow and drop by some books. It’s like the one thing I can’t look into. So just like Bluebeard’s I looked into it. Apparently, they have a messaging system relying on writing on the inside of the book. I recognized James’ name, and his first initial in a mysterious ‘JMG’ which I know nothing about, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it were his real name. Because ‘Flint’… I mean… Well, so there’s James’ name and there’s Miranda’s name which is also in a different set of initials: ‘MH’. There is no doubt that they were past lovers. They dedicated books to each other with things like: ‘Happy birthday, my love.’ But I can swear they’re not together anymore. Or at least I think…”

John looked down with a small grimace, as if the uncertainty was slowly killing him. Abigail put a hand on his arm as she had done yesterday. He had dark circles under his eyes and she doubted he had slept at all between the end of his shift and the moment he came back at Vane’s house. 

“But well all of this, I sort of already knew. But when I came back at James’ house after work, he was sleeping on the couch, so I started looking into the books on the shelf. And there is one that is tucked behind. It’s the Meditations by uhm…”

“Descartes? Marcus Aurelius?” Abigail proposed quickly, feeling curiosity and something akin to dread making her heart beat faster. 

“Marcus Aurelius, yes!” Silver resumed his whispered report. “On the inside there was written in a very different handwriting: ‘James, My truest love, know no shame.’ with the initials, ‘TH’.”

“TH…” Abigail repeated in a whisper. “Just like MH.”

“Elementary, my dear Watson.” Silver quipped. “So there is a third person, this TH which has Miranda’s last name, tells James he loves him, and uses the same communication through books system.”

“Who is he? Could he be Miranda’s brother… or relative..?” Abigail asked. “Maybe that’s why they are so close?”

“Except James told me he had sex with Miranda before. So if anything happened between this TH and James, it didn’t prevent him and Miranda to have a relationship as well.” 

Abigail frowned. She tried not to think of Miranda, this morning, with her hair wet from her swim in the sea, calling her a dryad of the trees, having a relationship with someone else. She felt it deeper than she felt she had any right to. 

“Be careful Abigail,” Idelle’s voice surprised them both, “Flint’s going to arrest you for stealing police property or something.” She joked as she sat down in the grass next to her, Max following close-by. 

Abigail wished she had any control over her ability to blush. It would have made John and her less guilty of whatever Idelle was implying. John retorted: “Don’t mind her, Abigail, she’s just jealous because she wants a piece of you but I’m stealing the show, as usual.”

“You all need to stay in line.” Max intervened. “Or are you forgetting you have boyfriends already? One pretty girl and you’re all gone?”

Abigail felt the irony of Max calling _her_ a pretty girl quite vividly. 

“Is that your way of telling us: ‘Step aside, this one is mine?’ ” John teased Max. 

“How about I belong to no one?” Abigail finally added, finding her voice while being surrounded by the three friends. 

Silver put a hand on his chest in mock affront and looked at his friends: “Look at what you’ve done. Now she has found her strong independent woman’s wings and she has flown away from us.”

“She was always out of your league.” Jack shouted from his napping spot. 

Anne sighed very deeply before standing up and heading back into the house. 

“Darling, what are you doing?”Jack asked plaintively, looking longingly at her retreating back. 

“I’m going to take a shower and get ready to go to the garden shop and then I’m going to wait for you to take a shower while smoking and then you’re going to take me to the garden shop.”

Abigail wondered if she had ever heard Anne talk that much. She must have been truly pissed, she thought with some remorse. 

“That’s a deal!” Jack answered, a smile back on his face. He then turned to Abigail: “You have a standing invitation of course. Want to come with us?” He asked. 

Abigail smiled brightly and nodded. Max smirked and asked: “Can we come too?”

Jack was going to answer when John cut in, laughing: “Oh no, Max, leave the poor boy alone!”

“I can’t! I can’t let that man be the sexiest man on this island and still be single. It’s impossible!” Max retorted. 

“He’s not the sexiest man on the island. He looks like a kicked puppy all the time.” 

“A judging kicked puppy.” Max corrected. 

Abigail frowned and looked at Jack, silently asking for an explanation. He shook his head and answered: “They’re talking about the garden shop employee, Billy. He’s a 6’4-tall mountain of muscles who makes everyone so inclined swoon and yet has remained single since… since forever. He has a deal with Charles and he won’t let Anne and I buy too many plants in order to avoid an encore of the last time…” 

“He’s actually a male version of you,” Max commented. “You both look super fine and people would want to date you, and yet you remain so pure that no one has the slightest idea what you could even like.” 

Silver chuckled, which made Max look at him suspiciously. 

Anne saved Abigail by shouting at Jack that the shower was free. 

***

Abigail was sitting in the backseat, squeezed between Max and the door. She was self-consciously pushing her egg-shell blue skirt down her knees. She hadn’t gone out showing her legs without thighs in… a long while. It felt strange. Liberating. No one even batted an eye at her legs. 

Idelle had teased her for looking like a proper schoolgirl, which made Max tease Idelle for having dirty schoolgirl fantasies. Sadly, Idelle couldn’t come to the garden shop because Featherstone had called and she chose to hang out with him, which did make everyone jokingly boo at her for choosing ‘brovaries over ovaries’ which was apparently a pop culture reference that Abigail didn’t get. 

And now, she was sitting in the back of the car which Anne was driving while Jack gave her directions in the passenger seat, in the backseat, with Max, John, and that bald guy with a beard and tattoos and a thick accent whose name she didn’t know but looked at John like he was his everything. 

Anne parked in front of the garden shop and they all invaded the giant green-house shop. 

It was a little stuffy inside, with all the green plants crowding the displays. There were some potted plants, some small, some so large it would take at least three people to move it, and displays of various seeds, various empty pots, and various garden decorations. Abigail started walking through the tiny potted fruit trees which promised to grow into the likes of Miranda’s apple tree. Abigail couldn’t help but smile at the thought. 

However, the happy memory was now tainted by the mysterious TH. 

She shook her head and walked on. She wondered what trees she would plant, had she had a garden. Apples would be nice. Figs too. Pomegranates were non-negotiable, she thought to herself. 

There was a couple at the end of the fruit trees alley, but she did her best to ignore them. 

As she walked down the alley, she let her hand wander on the leaves. She would have a nice garden. No, a park. A big park. She would take long walks to watch the sun set after a long day coddled indoors, studying. And since it was her park, she would take her giant mug with her and fill it with tea and drink it as she walked around. She would have a bird. Not a caged one, just a domesticated one. A parrot. Were parrots happy in England? 

Was she thinking about England at all? 

“Excuse me, miss, I just need to water these…” A voice interrupted her thoughts. 

She quickly step aside, realizing she was standing in the way. She looked at the employee and…

He must be Billy. 

He was very tall and muscled, as Jack had described, but he didn’t look like she thought he would. Well he did look like a kicked puppy, if that made sense for someone so tall. He was holding a tiny watering can, especially made for the tiny trees, and in his hands, it looked like a kid’s toy. Abigail would have been inclined to smile, had Billy not been so serious. So she got ready to be on her way when she was interrupted by a familiar voice: 

“My, my, we keep running into each other, I see.” Miranda said, smiling. 

Abigail smiled back before she could think of it. She felt it, the strange and all-consuming pleasure that arose in her chest at the sight of her. She was glad to see Miranda. She ha started to miss her, somehow, since this morning. 

It seemed to her, sometimes, that there were two Mirandas: the one that Silver and her discussed about in hushed tones, wondering about her mysterious connections with even more mysterious individuals, and the Miranda she could see now, smiling, relaxed, in a very strict pale grey suit and her in a elaborated hairdo. She seemed to be so far from the fresh-out-of-the-sea Miranda she had seen this morning, and yet, her smile, as she saw Abigail, was the same. 

Miranda, Abigail decided, was a complete mystery to her. 

She couldn’t help but think that this might be the exact reason why she was so attracted. 

She pushed the thought away. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs Barlow.” Billy greeted Miranda with the smallest of smiles, his shoulders going a little tense. 

Did the muscles of his shoulders have their own muscle? 

Was he… afraid of Miranda? 

“Good afternoon, Billy. How are the orange trees today?”

“They’re…uhm… quite well, Mrs Barlow. Soon, we’ll have to put them into bigger pots: they are already beginning to outgrow these ones.”

“Well, all things blossom when they are lovingly tended to. Is the rose bush doing any better?”

“Yes, actually. I followed your advice and it’s getting better. We might actually have roses in February.” Billy answered very seriously.

“All good news, then. Oh, have you met Abigail yet?” Miranda said, changing the subject abruptly. 

Billy turned back to the young girl who couldn’t help but take a step back. They looked at each other, not really knowing what to do with the other. Abigail actually had to crane her neck to talk to Billy’s face. The young man, on the other hand, had trouble meeting her eyes. She understood that quite well. 

“Hi, nice to meet you.” She spoke first, gingerly holding out her hand. 

He shook it a little, barely touching her as if he was afraid of crushing her tiny white hand with his own. Abigail thought it was slightly endearing. He did smile which was nice. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Billy.” 

Miranda looked like she was watching the world’s most entertaining play. She looked at her feet to mask a smile before walking over to Abigail, gently taking her arm: “I need to show you the rose bush.” She explained while gently guiding her down the alley. 

Abigail couldn’t help but picture Miranda and her as two ladies visiting a greenhouse in Victorian London, gossiping over far-away husbands. For some reason, she always had the most fanciful notions whenever Miranda was around. 

Miranda broke the silence, making Abigail realize that they had been silent for a while: “So, how was this morning’s swim?” She asked with a conspiratory smile, as if they shared a secret. Abigail was most glad to share secrets with Miranda. 

“It’s been a while since I swam in anything other than in a public pool in London. I missed it.”

“You live in London but you’re not from London, are you?” Miranda immediately guessed. 

Abigail shook her head. “I was born in Charlestown, where my father lives.”

Abigail was wondering if that was real. If that was truly happening. She could feel her arm brushing against Miranda’s waist. She could even smell Miranda’s perfume. Something dark and entrancing. Like Opium by Yves Saint Laurent. Miranda was slightly taller than her, she noticed suddenly, as their shoulders brushed. She wanted to reach out and pull her hair out of her elaborate hairdo. That would be rude, she berated herself. 

“Do you miss Charlestown sometimes?” Miranda was asking. 

“Oh, hum… I think that… Hum… Not really, actually. I’ve spent most of my life in England now, and… I was never really allowed to do anything in Charlestown… It’s… Well… I like London.”

How come a simple question by Miranda had her spilling out her life like that? She should get a grip on herself, she thought. 

Mostly because she knew nothing about Miranda. She thought about James and the mysterious TH. Who were they? What was her story? Who was she truly? 

Abigail realized she was falling for a complete mystery. How much of Miranda she was painting herself, out of her own imagination, and how much of Miranda was truly there? She felt her heart physically ache and her throat felt constricted. 

How come she couldn’t be interested in someone who wasn’t so… mysterious? She was only here for two weeks and here she was, playing detective where she had no rights to do so, because, of course, she would fall for the unattainable one. 

She would probably leave Nassau without having even kissed anyone because she couldn’t get interested in anyone who would actually be interested in kissing her. So much for her plans, she thought bitterly. Why couldn’t she do things like Eleanor and Jack and Anne…

She felt Miranda stopping and looked up, praying that she could hide her emotions, but not having much hope of anything slipping past Miranda’s intense gaze. 

“Here’s the rose bush, darling.” Miranda declared with something… different in her voice. Abigail felt her heart beat faster, wondering if Miranda had read her somehow. That and the way she had said “darling”. Abigail liked the way she pronounced the ‘a’.

Yes, the rose bush. 

It was in a corner with no price tag, like it had been forgotten, sitting in a big faience pot which reminded Abigail of the bath tub with the lion claws her father had in Charlestown. It was small and you could see some of the leaves dropping morosely in a pool of sun. Clearly, it didn’t like the climate of Nassau. Abigail couldn’t help but feel… sad for the little rose buds sticking out of the sad leaves. 

Miranda let go of her arm gently. Abigail had to physically prevent herself from clinging to it. 

“Mr Gates, the owner of the shop, planted it before winter, or what passes as winter here. These are modern hybrid roses, which last long but do need to be thoroughly taken care of… Billy tried his best and he is a remarkable gardener but he mostly knows how to take care of the plants that grow in Nassau.” She paused, looking at the rose bush with a small smile that felt somehow… intimate. “I’m glad I could be of help with this one.” 

Miranda looked up and Abigail had not been ready to find herself under the mysterious woman’s kind eyes. She looked at her with fondness. Was it fondness or was she making this up? Abigail felt that she couldn’t trust her own judgment, which was slightly disturbing. 

“I wish I could have been here to see the roses bloom.” She answered in a murmur, looking back to the rose buds. It looked like the roses were going to be pink, which made her smile. She was incredibly cliché but she liked her roses pink. 

“I’m not much of a photographer, but I could always send you some pictures if you give me your email address.” Miranda proposed. “Or I could ask Billy to do so.” She added and Abigail felt like there was a question in that. 

“I’ll give you my email. I’d be glad if you could send me some pictures.” Abigail answered the silent question. 

Miranda’s entire face lit up with her smile. Abigail answered with a shy smile. She was continually amazed by Miranda. She felt so… happy, so alive, almost carefree, as if she lived her life in her garden, and yet she left so many mysteries on her wake. The two seemed so contradictory that Abigail didn’t know what to follow, where to settle her mind, what to conclude. However, she felt that there was no compromises in falling for Miranda. You either let her eat you whole or you let her on the doorstep. You couldn’t fall halfway for her. There was an aura of intensity (what did an aura of intensity even meant? It sounded oxymoronic) about Miranda that everyone could feel and yet, the woman herself, behaved so casually, so lightly that Abigail wondered if Miranda herself knew how all-consuming she was. 

Miranda took Abigail’s arm again and the young woman let herself be guided through nearby alleys. Those were flowers, she realized. They were walking around the potted flowers alleys. She smiled.

“Do you remember our conversation about The Picture of Dorian Gray?” Miranda asked suddenly. 

How could she forget? Abigail nodded. 

“You said I wanted you to think I was Lord Henry. Who do you think I truly am?” 

Abigail looked at the violets for a moment before answering: “I see you as Dorian Gray.”

“Dorian Gray?” Miranda repeated, smiling but definitively surprised. She looked at Abigail as if she had just materialized out of nowhere. As if she was discovering her all over again. “Is that your way of telling me I’m self-obsessed?”

Abigail snapped her head up before shaking her head no: “Oh no, not at all! I just meant that… I mean… It’s the… The mystery. Dorian Gray is surrounded by mystery. People can never quite grasp him. No one really knows him. In the end, even Lord Henry doesn’t know him, doesn’t understand him.” She took a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts. “Dorian Gray presents himself as the perfect gentleman, a model for everyone, a lover of the arts, someone with conversation and wits, mostly inherited from Lord Henry, and he gives amazing diners which make him loved by people who imagine being his peers. But then, people who got too close seem to know something about him that changes everything. That something is the mystery lying out of sight which no one can guess for how closely it is protected. I think there is something very similar about you. That, and you would actually look very good in a portrait.” Abigail concluded, still looking at the violets. 

She was conscious of how bold she was being. Nothing told her Miranda wouldn’t recoil from her, find her rude, leave to never return. Abigail had no right. She barely knew her. She had no right to say all of this. She felt her heart beating incredibly hard in her chest. Her lips were so dry she had to lick them. What would she do if Miranda just left here right here and never returned?

She half-wished she had lied. 

Could she lie to Miranda? 

Finally, Miranda spoke: “Are you afraid of being Alan Campbell, my darling?” 

This felt so incredibly personal. There was something in her voice, so very gentle, like she was trying to speak to an easily-spooked bird and yet, it was vulnerable in a way Abigail would never have expected. She loved Miranda’s voice. It was calm and deep and she wanted nothing more but to hear it soothe her and lull her, like the waves she could hear in her bedroom at Charles’ house. 

“No,” Abigail answered, looking up from the violets at Miranda’s shoulder. “No, I believe I’m Basil Hallward.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry I'm a little late in posting this chapter! 
> 
> I just wanted to make a quick announcement about chapter 6 which I shall post next week. It's quite a big chapter and quite a turning point. It was very exciting to write and I can't wait for you guys to read it!! But since it's a big chapter next week you'll have a sort of double-feature, that is to say, I'll post chapter 6 in two parts since apparently people like chapters smaller and all... It's also going to a be small parting gift: I am indeed moving out and I won't be able to post for a little while (please don't ask how long I have no idea) 
> 
> If I have to be honest, I considered stopping writing this fic because well... But I literally just can't help myself those two are just stuck in my head. So, even if I don't post for a while, chapter 7 is already well under way and I don't think I'll stop writing this fic any time soon. We're quite close to the end anyway. 
> 
> So all of this to say, I hope you enjoy reading this chapter, and this fic in general!!

_So, it turns out that Anne loves little cactae. I don’t think she loves anything (except Jack of course) more than little cactae._

_Max came to find me as I was speaking to Miranda, discussing a little and eventually dragging me away under the pretext that we would be leaving soon. I regretted leaving Miranda, but I don’t know what would have happened if Max hadn’t come._

_I’m trying not to think about it._

_So Max took my hand (I hope Miranda didn’t think too much of it??) and dragged me back to where John and his friend with a beard and tattoos were waiting for me. I knew they had spied on me and organized my retreat, but I didn’t say anything._

_They walked me to the little cactae display where Anne was trying to choose between two little cactae in her hands. Jack was next to her, saying: “I know, it’s difficult to choose, but Charles won’t have us bring all the plants like the last time. We can come back for the others later.”_

_He also used a nickname that made Anne look murderously at us before telling Jack rather harshly to never use that nickname in public again. Jack only stroke her back with a smile and promised he would never again and he just wanted to make her feel better._

_So naturally, we all ended up buying cactae for Anne, so Charles wouldn’t blame his two roommates (housemates?) for the dozen of cactae that are currently in every corner of his house. Max was the one who came up with the idea. I wonder if that is why she didn’t think Charles would welcome her in his house for the party._

_That being said, the cactae do brighten up the house. They had a touch of green. Most of them are in Anne and Jack’s room but they are some in the kitchen and in the living-room, and even one by the front gate, as a sort of welcomer. I think it’s really cute._

_The owner of the shop, Mr Gates, was the one at the cashier, and he just laughed at all of us with our potted cactae. He looks like a nice and warm person. He has a funny beard and a strange eye-in-a-pyramid tattoo at the back of his head. He asked Jack if he wanted to buy some plastic pink flamingos for the garden too, and started talking about how no one wanted the pink flamingos, even at half-price, and he couldn’t understand why. He also told us he had nearly ten of those in his garden and that he loved them. Jack only answered that Charles would kill him without hesitation if he planted a pink flamingo in his garden, but he appreciated the offer._

_I love Nassau._

_It’s so wildly different from London, from the small village where my aunt lives, from what I remember of Charlestown. Maybe it’s the company. I haven’t worried about grades, about getting the readings done, about anything that might happen in my life outside the present moment since I set foot here. It’s a nice feeling._

_I wish I could just enjoy the present moment with Miranda. Just lean into her and… well. But if I fall for her… It would be so much more than a break affair. It scares me a little. I feel dragged deeper and deeper in my fascination of her. I shamefully admit that her attention on me is… intoxicating and makes me craving more. I love the way she touches me. That sounds wrong. I just… don’t mind her touching me like I would mind other people._

_Oh, well._

 

This evening, James parked his car in the driveway and Miranda could already tell he was pissed off. She looked up from the poem she was reading in her couch and wondered what had happened. 

James let himself in: the door was always open. It really wasn’t London and no one would even consider rob any house near Vane’s house anyway. Miranda craned her neck so she could see James in his police officer uniform carrying a…

“Is that a plastic pink flamingo, James?” Miranda asked, frowning. 

James sighed and rubbed the hand that wasn’t holding the flamingo over his face: “It is. I’m here to kindly ask you to hold on to it while we’re finding a house with a garden so we can plant this ugly thing in it.”

Miranda tried not to laugh. James looked unproportionnally angry at the garden flamingo. She stood up and went to the kitchen to make some coffee for James before his shift. 

“It is one of Mr Gates’ flamingos. Did you go to the garden store? I was here today, we could have gone together.”

“I wasn’t. John, however, very much was. I woke up, expecting him to be there like he said he would be, but instead he was at the garden store buying _this thing_.” 

James looked positively heinous. Any potential criminal would have to bear the weight of the rightful anger of James Flint having to carry a pink flamingo around. Miranda hoped no one would misbehave tonight. She prepared some herbal tea for herself: contrary to James she would have to sleep sometime tonight. 

“Why is the flamingo here then?” She asked, taking pleasure in James’ scowl deepening as she mentioned the flamingo again. 

“Since neither of us have a garden, John asked if you could hold on to it while we’re looking for a house that has one.”

“Any luck on the house hunting business by the way?” 

“Not yet. We have to take some time off because some days John and I just can’t spend more than three hours together. What was the point of me taking the night shift if we don’t… Well. Never mind.”

Miranda smiled indulgently and took the offending flamingo from James, pressing a cup of coffee in his hands instead. She put the flamingo on the kitchen counter and took her own herbal tea, looking at James drinking his bitter black coffee like it was water in the middle of the desert. 

“Miranda, you’re a life safer. This thing has been staring at me since John opened the door with it in his hand. I love Hal but he gets into the weirdest things.” 

Miranda patted his arm before leading them to the window which looked at her back garden. They looked at the stars, letting the evening warm breeze wash over them. Miranda closed her eyes.

“John told me he saw you at the garden store today.” James said next to her, his hushed voice low and somewhat concerned.

“I was there indeed. I came here to check on the rose bush and I bought the violets you see on the bedside table. I’ll plant them tomorrow.” She answered without opening her eyes. 

“He said he saw you with a girl.” James added with something like reproach in his voice. Miranda just smiled. “Was that the girl from Vane’s house?”

“The very same. I think she’s John’s friend too now, isn’t she? She came here with him, and Max and Jack and Anne. And no, Vane wasn’t among them.”

“What were you talking about? John said he had to dispatch Max to retrieve her because he was afraid you would kiss in the middle of the store.”

“She compared me to Dorian Gray. And then she said she was Basil Hallward.” Miranda answered with a smile. The memory alone had her giddy with stupid excitement. She felt like a teenager whose crush had just told her that they liked her hair. It was centuries since she hadn’t felt so… uncertain and delighted at the same time. The strange mix of feelings was coursing in her veins. 

When James didn’t answer, she opened her eyes. He was looking at her with concerned eyes and softness in the sad expression of his mouth that was reserved just for her. She frowned a little: “Are you jealous?” She asked. 

“I’m not. What I am is very concerned. I can’t advice prudence enough. Who is this girl even? I mean, she knows Charles Vane, she can’t be that innocent. How young is she even? Is she of age? She looks 16. You’re smiling like the cat who got the cream but you just talked about books and the Dorian and Basil comparison isn’t a very encouraging one. She’s probably just a schoolgirl on vacation, looking for a vacation boyfriend to fulfill some sort of romance she has read about and she’s just being nice to you because you’re being very nice to her.”

Miranda blinked once. Twice. “James…” She could hardly believe it.

James immediately left his coffee on the window and took her hand in both of his. “Miranda, I don’t mean to hurt you, I really don’t, but I don’t want her to hurt you either. I don’t want to see you hurt at all. Are you sure a girl is the solution?”

Miranda took her hand back and turned to look back in the bedroom. it would be easier to gather her words if she didn’t look at his face. If she wasn’t reminded of everything that his face meant: “James, you’ve been living as a fort for so long. You’ve closed the drawbridge and dig trenches around yourself. You’ve ostensibly closed yourself off from the others. And when John came along, I saw the good he could do for you, even when you couldn’t see it yourself. I encouraged you to go to him even if it hurt.” She looked back at him, making sure he couldn’t escape her eyes, her words. “I was your certainty when doubt was eating at you. And in the end, wasn’t I right? Are you not happy with John?”

James opened his mouth to protest but closed it when he met Miranda’s piercing eyes. He shook his head yes. Miranda tilted her head to make sure he wouldn’t escape her gaze.

“I guided you through your mourning because I love you, James.” They often declared their love for each other and anyone would be fooled because it bore feelings so deep, but none of those feelings were of a romantic nature and they knew it. “But you’re not the only one who lost him, James. What about my loneliness? I feel like an island lost in the middle of an ocean. I’m not closed off like you were, I’m just… out of reach, it seems. It feels incredibly lonely, James.”

James tried to escape her eyes, tried to hide the tears that made his eyes shiny with memories and tried not to see the tears in Miranda’s eyes, but she didn’t let him. Now was not the time for hiding. Not anymore. “I didn’t choose this loneliness like you. It was thrust on me. And I’m trying… god… I’m trying desperately to get out of it. I’ve been so unsuccessful so far. But there’s a chance for me now, however brief, however imperfect. I feel less lonely around her. Please don’t take that away from me, James.”

James immediately took her face in his hands and drew her to him so he could kiss her forehead. He wasn’t very good with expressing his emotions but Miranda knew him and knew that a forehead kiss meant deep unconditional love for him. She closed her eyes and accepted it. 

“I’m sorry,” He murmured, his voice rough from holding back tears. “I know you’ve done so much for me and I want to do the same for you. But I know nothing about this girl. John only told me that she was shy and nice and that everybody was very curious to know more about her… tastes… Apparently Idelle told him that she would have “tapped that” had she not been with Featherstone, juste out of curiosity. She apparently tried to push Max to seduce her but Max only answered that it would feel like sleeping with a younger cousin and she didn’t want to do it. Well, you know how they are… Why her, Miranda? What do you see in her that has you… like this?”

Miranda laughed at that. of course they were curious. Live on an island and the gossip inevitably ends up repeating itself. Abigail was so completely different that people must look at her as of she were a new form of entertainment. She gathered some seriousness and looked away for a moment before answering: 

“Well, I should really ask her age, but I do think she’s of age. She’s so tiny and innocent that it does look like she’s younger than she truly is. And you know how difficult it is to ask a lady her age.” She teased. “But I don’t think she could have travelled all the way here if she were not at least 18. She is a student. Literature and classics, could you believe it? She genuinely likes what she is studying but she is not… tedious. I mean, she is well-read but she has a rather sharp way of seeing things. She has not been dulled by old dusty professors yet… She is lovely. Oh, so very lovely with her perfect manners and the way she blushes. She has a voice… You should meet just so you could hear her voice. There is nothing so delicate.” Miranda explained, letting her enthusiasm show for the first time since she saw Abigail step out of the car. She paused. There was something else. Something that made her more than a delight for the senses. Something that had reached out for Miranda and captivated her. 

“She keeps a diary.” She had pinpointed it. “And I think it helps her keep track. I think that, she may lie to everyone around her about who she is, but she doesn’t lie to herself. She sees things. She… She has a wonderful sense of observation and she analyzes what she sees with a sharp mind. I like that very much.”

Miranda blinked, suddenly realizing that she had been staring off in space, a vague smile playing on her lips. She looked back at James who was playing the the handle of his cup, looking at her like she had said something absurd. She laughed. 

“I know. I know I’ve barely talked to her… a handful of times. But do you remember the state of you when I told me about that silly boy who swung right into you and talked your head off in the early morning? You wanted to sound so annoyed and you couldn’t help but smile.”

The ‘John is mentioned’ signature smile adorned James’ lips and he conceded: “Alright. She does sound interesting. And she managed to catch your eye so she must truly be exceptional. Even John talks about her like she’s something else. I guess I’ll have to meet her someday. But do take care of yourself, Miranda. I don’t want to see you hurt if I can help it, alright?” 

“I won’t rush into it, I promise.” 

“I, on the contrary, should rush. The redoutable police officer Flint cannot afford to be late. Thanks for the coffee. It’s always so good.”

“Have John swing by some time so I can teach him how to make coffee just the way you like. Go catch the bad guys now, cowboy.” She teased him. 

***

Abigail was making a full English breakfast because Jack had said he never had a true English person make an English breakfast and therefore he felt like he never had a true English breakfast. Also, he was high and had the munchies. So Abigail was making eggs and bacon while entrusting Anne with the preparation of toast and Jack with the cutting of fruits. Abigail had been very worried about leaving two high people wandering around in the kitchen around knives and toasters but apparently, Anne and Jack were very functional while they were high. 

“We don’t have tea so coffee will have to do.” She said as if she was teaching them, which felt slightly surreal. 

“What is the English people’s favourite tea?” Jack asked. 

“I… have no idea. I like Earl Grey. It’s quite English, I guess?” Abigail answered. 

 

This morning, she had woken up quite early with a parched mouth. She had groaned when she had found her water bottle empty. Nights were so hot in Nassau. Abigail had descended the steps groggily, still half-asleep, trying not to make too much noise because she had heard Eleanor wake Charles once because she had forgotten to calculate the time difference and she really didn’t want to make a repeat of that experience. 

As she made her way to the kitchen, Abigail thought about the snippets of her dream she could remember. It had been troubling because she had found herself in a bed, just like the one she had fallen asleep into. A lot of details had been different however. For example, it was raining. Not the thin continuous cold London rain, but heavy tropical rain which only makes the atmosphere heavier. It splattered on the windows and on the corrugated iron roof in a comforting symphony which reminded her of her childhood. She could see through the eyes of her dream-self and feel the softness of the strangely non-smothering blankets as she stretched in bed. That was when she realized there was someone else in bed next to her. She could feel their skin against hers as she turned to see who it was. She was half-expecting to find Anne or Jack sprawled in her bed as she had found them yesterday. 

She couldn’t remember who she saw or if she truly saw them. She could only remember hearing a deep pleasing voice hush her and tell her to close her eyes, which she promptly did. The last thing she could remember before waking up was hair that smelled like honey in her face and a hand trailing down to her hips. 

Needless to say, she found herself quite shaken by that dream. She was trying to remember if she ever had a dream of that sort. She couldn’t say. She walked to the kitchen and put her hands on her hips, looking around for what could be called breakfast. While staying at the house with Charles, Anne and Jack, she had learned that they had a wide definition of breakfast which began with a single glass of milk and ended with cold pizza. She usually ate apples. 

Abigail stretched, trying to chase sleep from her body. She stood on tip toe and extended her arms over her head. She could feel her t-shirt ride up her belly but couldn’t really care. She relaxed, letting her arms fall back down her sides. 

As she turned to look to the sink, hoping something that could be called breakfast would spring up, she saw Miranda in her own kitchen. She looked fresh out of the shower (probably her post-swim-in-the-sea shower) with her wet hair combed back out of her face. She wasn’t looking at her like the last time. She looked busy with her own breakfast, moving efficiently, cutting fruit, a jar of oats next to her. She was still wearing what looked like nightwear. Abigail couldn’t see well but she thought it was a black silk nuisette adorned with black lace. 

It looked really nice on her. 

On the windowsill was sitting a small pot of violets. 

She quickly averted her eyes, afraid of being caught looking like the last time. She looked at the fridge instead. Those were the violets she had looked at when she had told Miranda she saw her as the Dorian Gray to her Basil Hallward. She could remember her dream, the ghost of someone’s skin against hers, an aura of warmth surrounding her like another blanket. 

Had she been dreaming about Miranda? 

Did Miranda dream about her too? It seemed unlikely that such an impressive woman would dream of her. She had accepted her own strange confession with a mysterious smile and Abigail couldn’t shake the surreal idea that Miranda was at least fond of her. She wished she had a nuisette to wear around the kitchen and see how Miranda would react to that. 

That being said, it was probably better: she didn’t exactly have a model’s body like Anne and Eleanor. 

Miranda hadn’t seemed to mind. 

Before she could think better of it, Abigail let her hair out of her ponytail, feeling it fall on her shoulders and down her back. She quickly pushed some of it out of her face, over her shoulder and tugged on her short sleeve down her shoulder in order to bare her shoulder. She hoped she would be credible in the role of sleeping beauty just awoken from her slumber. She doubted it, she had never been the pretty one, but still, she was doing it now. No take backs. 

She opened the fridge and took the orange juice, faking a yawn, which transformed into a real yawn. As she turned back, she was surprised to see that Miranda was actually looking at her through her window. She couldn’t help but blush deeply, as if she had just been caught in her game. 

This entire idea had been quite ridiculous. Truly, who did she think she was fooling? 

Miranda was looking at her with that intense stare Abigail had experienced the first day she had arrived in Nassau. She now felt just like she had felt then: like a deer in the headlights. But now she was formulating an interesting hypothesis about that stare: was it the expression of Miranda’s interest? 

Abigail felt like she was walking a very thin line and she was afraid of falling one side or the other: was Miranda interested or was she making all of it up? 

Miranda left her knife on the cutting board and turned to her fridge, picking the white board and writing on it. Abigail frowned, the bottle of juice still in her hands. She felt ridiculous and useless, standing here while Miranda was writing. She tugged on her t-shirt to cover her shoulder again, half-ashamed of her little game. 

Miranda held up the white board on which she had written in capital letters: “Fancy having lunch with me today?”

Abigail couldn’t help but being surprised. She nodded before she could think about the offer more seriously. She might have nodded a little too eagerly. 

Miranda smiled back. This one was a familiar smile. It was the smile she had when she had showed the rose bush to Abigail yesterday. She liked that smile. Miranda returned to the board, writing once again. Abigail was watching her, the visual equivalent of hanging to her every word. 

Miranda held up the white board once again: “1pm in front of the stationary store. Is this okay?”

Abigail nodded once again, feeling her heart beat up in her chest at a ridiculous speed. Miranda smiled once again and wrote: “It’s a date then. See you soon.” She held up the board one last time, enjoying the blush spreading on Abigail’s cheeks before taking her breakfast and leaving the kitchen with a wink. 

Abigail stood here in Vane’s kitchen for a full minute, the bottle of orange juice still in her hand, before she heard Charles come down, making her jump. 

She greeted Charles who only answered with a grumpy tired groan, making her chuckle. Charles was the opposite of a morning person. As far as he was concerned, mornings didn’t start before 11am. She poured him some orange juice as well and handed him the glass as he sat rather heavily in the living room couch which had, somehow, found its way to the entrance of the kitchen. Abigail started the coffee pot and joined Charles on the couch with her own glass of orange juice. 

“It is rather early for you.” She remarked in a soft voice, in case he was hangover. 

“Have to get some stuff from the hiding place at the warehouse. Far away.” He mumbled in his glass. 

“Oh. How long will you be gone?”

“Be back tonight. Before Flint’s shift.”

“Eleanor will miss you.” Abigail said, smiling. 

“Yeah, but you two can spend some time together today too. I kind of robbed you of her.” Charles answered with something that could be interpreted as a smile. 

“It’s alright. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen each other. I think Eleanor and I can afford not to be on each other’s backs for two weeks.”

“We discussed yesterday and I told her she should give you a tour of Nassau. I mean, the real Nassau, not the tourist traps Jack shows from his little train.” Charles snorted at the mention of the little train. 

The coffee pot was ready and this time, Charles poured it into two cups: “Sugar?” He asked. 

It felt slightly surreal. Charles was obviously at the head of a very shady organisation which extended from Nassau all the way to England and included a lot of money, judging by the size of the house, and yet here he was, mumbling about waking up early and asking if she wanted sugar in her coffee. She shook her head no, curling up in the strangely-placed sofa. 

“So, Eleanor and I talked about some other things… We thought it might better to leave out most of the details so you’re not too… implicated in all this… But Blackbeard is coming…” Charles sat in the couch, scratching the back of his head, visibly trying to find his words. “Teach is like the big boss. He’s the top of the thing. No one higher than him. He’s coming to Nassau to take the pearls. Originally, he was coming after you and Eleanor left, but we just had a rather big deal coming through so he’s coming to oversee the matter and be a threatening presence.”

Abigail wanted to cover her ears with her hands and ask Charles to stop talking. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to be more implicated in any of this. She didn’t want to meet any drug lord, and…

“So yeah, basically, he’s going to be living with us.” Charles was telling his parted knees, as if he was trying to realize all the implications of the statement. “It may sound strange but he might actually like you. He hates Eleanor, tho. Oh god, they hate each other so much.” He rubbed his face with the hand that wasn’t holding his coffee. 

Abigail took pity on him. She patted his shoulder a little awkwardly: “It’s going to be alright, Charles. I’m sure Eleanor and Teach will at least try to… live under the same roof without hell breaking loose…”

“Hell breaking loose is actually the most fitting description of what happened the last time.” Charles mumbled. 

“Well, I’ll talk to Eleanor and I’ll ask her to try and not make things too difficult for you when Teach arrives. We’ll be out and around, leaving you to deal with… whatever it is you’re dealing with. I can’t promise she will listen to me, but I can say that we’re not here to get into trouble. We’ll be happy to just enjoy our vacation.”

“Cool,” Charles answered. “That’s cool. Okay, I need to take a shower and I’ll go to that fucking warehouse.” Taking a deep breath, he stood up, groaning all the while and went back upstairs, leaving his coffee mug on the kitchen counter. 

Abigail shook her head fondly and washed the glasses and mugs. 

***

Half an hour later, she was organizing a full English breakfast with what was in Vane’s kitchen. Anne was complaining about having to go to work and Jack was trying to motivate her by telling her they could buy a lot of snacks with the money. 

“Do you have any plans for today?” Jack asked Abigail. “You could always come with us. You’ve already seen the tour, but you could always hang with Anne at the back of the train.”

“That’s kind of you, but I actually have plans.” Abigail answered shyly. 

“Oh? Please, tell me Silver, Max and Idelle aren’t involved, because that would be bad news.”

“They’re not… I’m… uhm…” Abigail hesitated while turning the bacon over. “Please don’t tell Charles, okay?”

Jack and Anne immediately stopped what they were doing, looking at Abigail as if she was completely out of her mind. 

“If even Charles can’t know, I don’t think it’s a good idea. At. All.” Jack warned. 

“It’s not… It’s just… Miranda invited me to lunch today, and I know how Charles feels about…”

She was interrupted by the most peculiar sound in the world. 

Anne was laughing. Not just a chuckle, but a full-blown laughter. Anne was leaning on the kitchen counter, bending her head while trying to muffle it, but it seemed uncontrollable. It last at least a minute before she could stand up again and calm down a little. Not a lot per se, but Abigail was pretty sure she had never seen Anne express an emotion for so long. 

“Charles is afraid of a grand total of one person on this fucking island and you’re going to fuck that one person. I mean, I wouldn’t have believed it if you weren’t the one crossing international borders with the fucking pearls.” She explained. 

“I’m not going to fuck…” Abigail started, only to be interrupted by Jack, stroking his moustache pensively. 

“You would be the perfect criminal, I mean, no one would even consider you stepping one toe out of line…”

“I’m not a criminal. Not a lot… I mean, I’m just going to eat lunch with Miranda, nothing is going to happen. I’m sure it hasn’t even crossed her mind. I just… don’t want Charles throwing me out because of it… Please don’t tell him.”

Judging the bacon ready, she turned the fire off and piled it in three plates. 

“Alright, we won’t tell him.” Jack promised. “Do you need a lift in town? I could always call someone for you?”

“No, thanks, I was thinking of walking there actually? It’s not that far, is it?”

“No it’s not very far. I can draw you a map. Where is the meeting place?”

“Probably the Oyster Bistrot or a fancy people place like that.” Anne said, rolling her eyes. 

“She told me to meet her at the stationary store? You know, the one you met with me last time? This one.”

Jack shook his head as if the entire situation had a twist that was only funny for him. “I’ll draw you a map.” He repeated, taking the plates back to the living-room where the table was. 

***

Abigail had felt nervous while choosing clothes before. Mostly before meeting her father, or her aunt, or going to a rare party where she didn’t know the dress code. 

This was something else. There was the usual worry of being over-dressed or under-dressed. Miranda hadn’t told her where they would have lunch. Would she take her to the mysterious Oyster Bistrot or would they picnic on the beach like so many people did in Nassau? Was there a third possibility? 

What were the appropriate clothes? 

What would be the clothes that would make Miranda look at her like she had done this morning? 

She pushed the heels of her hands to her eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Eleanor asked, appearing on the doorstep suddenly. She was wearing one of Charles’ t-shirts, her hair falling messily on her shoulders. 

“Just trying to figure out what to wear…” Abigail answered, unsure whether to tell her where she was going to wear the outfit she was trying to put together. She didn’t want to ask Eleanor to keep secrets from Charles. He was her boyfriend after all. 

“Well you could wear your white dress with the floral motifs. It was in yesterday’s laundry so it must be dry by now.” Eleanor answered nonchalantly. 

“I’m trying to… uhm… look nice…”

“Oh you’re worried because we’re going downtown, is that right?”

“Well, yes… I, uhm…”

“No one’s going to judge you, that’s for sure. But you can always wear your shirt, the pastel mauve one, yes, this one, with the white shirt tucked in it. It would look nice. But anything will be just fine, truly. That being said, you don’t need to hurry, I’m going back to sleep since I’ve been… well, busy. I’ll find you when I’m ready to into town, alright?”

“Alright.” Abigail squeaked, embarrassed to have to lie. 

Eleanor squinted her eyes at her for half a second before yawning uncontrollably. She walked back to the bedroom she shared with Charles, leaving Abigail to trying to get her heartbeat back to a normal rhythm. She looked at the clothes Eleanor had suggested. 

They were good, she decided, grabbing them before darting to the bathroom. 

***

The sky was bordered with pines bending with the rising wind. It was slightly chillier today than it had been yesterday, for which Abigail was slightly grateful: she didn’t want to arrive to her… date, drenched in sweat from the twenty minutes walk into town. The sky was still blue, only peppered with some wind-herded clouds and the sun was still bright, but there was a smell in the breeze that seemed to announce rain. 

Abigail was walking down the hill that would lead her straight into town, trying not to think of climbing it on her way home. Some cars drove by, one of them even honked at her, making her jump, before recognizing the man with the beard and tattoos who always hung out with Silver, waving at her. She waved back with a smile.

Nassau was truly something else. 

She looked all around her, trying to take it all, engrave it in her memories. 

She wondered if she would remember it when she was back in London or if she would just forget it all, like it had happened to someone else. She tried not to think too much about it. 

While walking on the sea-front decks, she saw the little blue train passing by, Jack excitedly telling the story of the fearless Henry Avery. He waved at her, which led to every tourist subsequently waving as if she were a curiosity. She waved back, chuckling. She wondered on how many tourist pictures she would appear in now. 

She listened to the waves while she made her way to the other end of the beach. There were very few bathers: most of the inhabitants were at work. Some tourists were scattered on the white sand and a surfing lesson was taking place nearby. Abigail couldn’t hear what they were saying but she was pretty sure one of the teachers was Billy from the garden shop. That, or Nassau was filled with muscly giants. 

Smiling to herself, Abigail longed the beach on the deck and finally reached what looked like the business part of town which was actually very small, but showed the first signs of lunch break for white-collared workers. They filled a small minimalist café and walked to their cars in small groups. Abigail finally reached the stationary shop where the clerk recognized her and smiled at her. She smiled and waved back before his attention was required elsewhere. 

Abigail tried not to feel too self-conscious in front of all the women on high heels and severe suits she saw. She touched her hair, trying to feel if her wrapped-around loose braid was holding on. It seemed so. Did she go wrong by not wearing lipstick? She didn’t want to ruin it while eating, but she felt… small and childish now. 

She should have gone with Jack and Anne on the little train… 

“Abigail, I’m glad you’re here.” Miranda’s voice cut through her thoughts. 

Abigail turned to find her smiling, her hair in a messy bun, wearing a skin-tight black shirt and loose grey pants. She looked like she had been powering through her morning and had abandoned a proper office look halfway through. It looked wonderful on her and once again, Abigail found herself swept away how beautiful Miranda looked. She dared a smile: “The pleasure is all mine.” She answered. 

That made Miranda smile with something Abigail wouldn’t dare call wickedness. 

“I hope you don’t mind sushis?” Miranda asked, holding out a take-out bag. 

“Oh, I love sushis!”

Miranda smiled again and ushered Abigail inside a glass and steel building, using her card to get them through security. 

“I know having lunch inside seems a pity when the day is so beautiful and the beach is right here, but I think you’re going to enjoy the view from my office.” She said mysteriously, and Abigail couldn’t help but be fascinated. 

She tried not to think about kissing Miranda in the elevator while she was close enough so that she could smell her Black Opium perfume. Miranda only smiled at her before guiding her towards the end of a long corridor. She unlocked the last door and let Abigail in. 

Miranda’s office was… immense. It had a small receptionist desk, now empty of the receptionist, a tall glass window separating it from the rest of the office where two couches faced each other across a small coffee table, and beyond it, a desk, in front of an enormous bay window. 

Miranda was right: the view was wonderful. You could see the entire bay from here. Abigail approached it carefully: she could see the tiny spots of the bathers in the waves, and further away, she saw white sails, and black spots of yatches. But mostly, she saw the wide expanse of the ocean spreading out to the horizon, meeting the sky in a line of infinity. 

Miranda chuckled behind her, where she put the sushis on the small coffee table: “I’m glad you enjoy the view.” 

“I don’t think I would get any work done with such a view.” Abigail answered, looking over her shoulder at Miranda watching her. 

“That’s actually why my desk is facing the other way.” 

Abigail walked towards the small coffee table on which Miranda had laid out the impressive amount of sushi she had gotten. Miranda caught Abigail’s curious gaze and explained: “I didn’t know what you would like. I hope you like iced jasmine tea. This restaurant makes the best I’ve ever tasted with barely no sugar, which doesn’t spoil the taste…” She said, trying to tuck a strand of hair back in her bun. 

A most curious thought struck Abigail: was Miranda… nervous? 

What a ridiculous thought. 

“I love about all kinds of sushi.” She replied with a smile just a little too bright for the situation. “And I never had iced jasmine tea. I can’t wait to taste it.” She sat on the couch, letting Miranda pour the tea and hand her one of the sushi boxes. She thought, not for the first time, that Miranda was beautiful. She kept seeing her in different situations and yet, each and every time, she thought that she was beautiful. 

“So,” Miranda said, starting a conversation, “we’ve established that you liked The Picture of Dorian Gray, what other books do you enjoy reading?”

As they sat here, in Miranda’s office, discussing Virginia Woolf, eating sushi and drinking amazingly good jasmine tea, Abigail came to the realization that she was in love with Miranda. 

She wasn’t just attracted to her, she wasn’t just fascinated by her. She was in love. 

It felt… incredibly calm. Like looking up at the sun from the bottom of the pool, feeling the gentle currents your arms create to stay down at the bottom. She was sipping iced tea, her eyes on Miranda like she could barely bear not to look at her, and she was thinking: 

I’m in love with her. 

A remote part of her brain started panicking but panic felt… superfluous now. She didn’t want to let panic wash over her. She did her best to stay calm and let herself be submerged by the realization.

“…thought of yourself while reading about Clara Durrant in Jacob’s Room? Because the moment you told me you liked your diaries with a lot of pages, I thought about Clara Durrant. Virginia Woolf would have liked you.” Miranda was saying. Abigail blushed under the compliment and looked at her knees, not sure of how she was supposed to answer. 

Her silence didn’t seem to bother Miranda who turned to Abigail, bending one leg on the couch to face her. Abigail mirrored her movement, acutely aware of the way her skirt had ridden up over her knee. She tried not to pull on it. She couldn’t, actually, because Miranda was looking at her, with that smile, the one which made her look mischievous, that Silver had when he had guessed her secret. The comparison made Abigail smile internally. 

“So, Abigail, you told me a lot about your tastes in books. What about your tastes in boys?”

“Boys?” Abigail couldn’t help but echo, disbelief washing over her face. Miranda couldn’t possibly think she was into men when she was continually blushing in her presence. 

Well, she could have been. Maybe. 

But she knew that Miranda saw her. She knew that Miranda knew she wasn’t into anyone that wasn’t sitting right in front of her right now. 

So she was trying to play a trick on her. Ask in a roundabout way.

“Well, I know there are a lot of rather handsome men hanging around at Vane’s house. Surely someone must have caught your eye by now. Or do you have a boyfriend in London? What do you like in a partner?”

Abigail took a minute to look up from where their knees were almost touching before answering: “I think what you really want to ask me is whether I’m seeing anyone.”

Miranda tilted her head a little, as if Abigail had moved and she needed a new angle to see her: “Are you seeing anyone?” She asked directly. 

“No, I’m not.” Abigail replied as directly. 

Miranda slid towards her just a little. Abigail could feel her knee teasing her own, not quite touching but so near she could feel it. It was a thin line and she felt dizzy. 

“Was there ever anyone, Abigail? Do you miss someone?” Miranda asked, and there was something else than curiosity and mischievousness in her tone. 

“No, there was never anyone…” She caught herself from saying ‘like you’ because she didn’t know where she stood. She was still walking that thin line and she was too afraid of falling to move. 

“Don’t you feel lonely then?”

“Not really. I don’t know. I probably don’t let myself focus too much on it.”

Miranda slid towards her again, just a little, a fraction of an inch, and their knees were touching and Abigail felt it so strongly she wondered whether she should be ashamed of it. She felt like… a swing had hit her right in the chest, the impact robbing her of her breath for half a second. 

It was so strange that a physical contact, such as knees touching, could be felt in so many different ways according to the situation in which the contact occurred. How physical reactions were not elicited by physical actions but by context. 

“Do you touch yourself, Abigail?” Miranda asked, frankly. 

That… was the opposite of roundabout indeed. Abigail was probably a very unbecoming shade of beet red. She could feel it. She opened her mouth and then realized she had no idea what to say. She closed it. Miranda smiled at her, resting her elbow on the back of the sofa and her chin on her knuckles. 

“I… I-uhm…” 

“I do.” Miranda encouraged her. “Isn’t it one of the Delphic maxims? “Know thyself”?”

Abigail couldn’t help but smile at that. She pressed a hand against her lips to contain a nervous laugh. She swallowed before answering: “I do touch myself. I mean, I try, but… It… I don’t know if that’s… It takes a very long time to…well… And it’s more frustrating than anything really…”

“It’s such a shame…” Miranda answered and before Abigail could think of anything to reply, she felt Miranda’s fingertips on her thigh. It worked exactly like an electric current, the nerve under Miranda’s fingers sending a powerful message of arousal through her entire body with a force she hadn’t expected. 

Then Miranda slid her fingers gently up her leg until they caught the hem of her skirt. 

Abigail gasped. Miranda looked up from her fingers to Abigail’s eyes and the young woman felt like the eye contact was like a trap she had willingly walked into. Part of her, an unknown part of her, wanted so bad to clutch at the folds of her skirts and push it up her legs to offer more of her skin to Miranda’s subtle touch. Another part, more remoter, but still present, urged her to get herself together, move away from Miranda’s touch… She wasn’t sure she could bring herself to break the contact, not with the way Miranda was looking at her, as if she was the most interesting thing in the world…

A knock on the door startled them both. Abigail gasped and jumped. Miranda removed her hand and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She took a moment before calling out: “Yes, what is it?”

Abigail had never heard her voice with such a harsh tone. She was glad it wasn’t directed at her, but she couldn’t help but move a little away from Miranda, trying not to look like she had been seconds away from letting her… 

“Miranda, Mr Guthrie wants to know if you have reviewed the Hornigold dossier? He’d like to see it one last time before their formal dinner tonight…” Lambrick’s voice rung unpleasantly from the door he had just opened. 

Miranda rubbed her temples and contemplated the HR paperwork she would have to fill if she told him to fuck off now. But the moment was already lost, lingering would be no use now. She stood and walked to her desk where she found the manilla folder Lambrick had requested. 

When she looked back, Abigail was standing, smoothing her skirt down her legs, smiling politely to Lambrick and exchanging very awkward greetings. Lambrick was staring at her as if he had just witnessed her step out a spaceship. 

“This is the dossier,” Miranda intervened, “my report is inside, if Mr Guthrie…”

“Mr Guthrie wants to go over the details with you. In person.” 

Of course he wanted to go over the details with her. She held back a sigh and nodded: “I’ll be with you in a minute.” There was a beat in which no one moved. “Can you wait outside for a moment, please?” Miranda asked Lambrick pointedly. It took all her willpower not to hit his head on the coffee table, Lost Highway style. 

Once she was alone with Abigail again, Lambrick lurking in the corridor, she let her her frustration go. She smiled at the young woman and took advantage of a rebel strand of hair (it wasn’t that rebel and didn’t really needed to be tucked in) to caress the bright red top of her ear and her neck, her fingers barely ghosting over her skin before withdrawing. 

“I’m so sorry our date had to be cut so short. I was really enjoying it. Were you… enjoying it as well?” Miranda asked, looking straight into Abigail’s eyes, not giving her the opportunity of offering her a polite lie. 

Abigail nodded, whispering as if her throat was too tight to speak louder: “I was… enjoying it.”

“Good.” Miranda smiled. “Now, I do have to go since duty calls… But we’ll have the opportunity to repeat the experience… should you want it.”

Abigail nodded eagerly, which made Miranda smile. She could barely believe the relief she felt inside her chest. She wanted to kiss Abigail so badly, hold her waist, drag her close, get her mouth on those wonderful lips and her thigh between those pale ones… 

Miranda took a deep breath again and looked away to resist the temptation. In the end, she still guided Abigail out with a hand on her shoulder and parted with a light kiss on her cheek. She then watched the young woman leave, blushing, with an air of satisfaction of a job well done. 

***

Abigail met Eleanor on the beach. Eleanor was sitting on the sand, look at sea with a vague expression of misery and anger shadowing her blue eyes. Abigail sat next to her, letting their shoulders touch, as she usually did when Eleanor was in such a mood: 

“Everything’s fine?” She asked, knowing that it was not the case. 

Eleanor sighed and shook her head, still looking at the waves: “Fucking Teach is coming soon.”

“Who is Teach?”

“Who’s fucking Teach indeed…” Eleanor thought for a minute before answering. “He’s basically at the head of everything. He’s behind the pearls, he’s behind what the pearls are for. If someone wants to buy something, Teach has to agree first. If someone does something for him, he knows their names, he knows who they are. If someone working for him gets busted, he decides whether that someone gets out or gets to jail…And he never forgets one fucking thing.” She explained. 

“You crossed him.” Abigail concluded. 

“I did. I told Charles that he could steal my dad’s car because he needed it for a deal with a fancy asshole. Plus, it’s not like my dad had three fucking cars. So I helped him steal the car and he got caught by the police. Thank god Flint wasn’t on the island yet. But still he got caught and Teach had to go save him with one very, very big bribe, because the police was just waiting for him to make a mistake. Teach doesn’t want me anywhere near Charles since. He was ready to pay for half my tuition in London if that meant I could get the hell out of here faster. He’s probably pissed that I live with him now.” 

“Maybe we could find another place to stay while he’s here?” Abigail proposed. 

Eleanor laughed: “I heard Jack pleading with Silver on the phone, like ‘Silver, my friend, your boyfriend has a bigger better flat, go live with him and be reunited like fucking lovebirds or something, I’ll even pay rent if you let Anne and me live at your place for a few days’. But it’s bullshit. It happened years ago, I was just 17, how come I still have to be despised by that man for a mistake I made years ago. Plus, we brought in the fucking pearls and we did a fucking good job at it. We deserve that place in the house. I can’t be intimidated by Teach like I’m fucking 17 anymore.” 

“He doesn’t like Jack and Anne either?” Abigail asked frowning. Who would be so heartless as to not like Jack and Anne?

“He just doesn’t take them seriously. Thinks their little business is a joke, never mind that they can actually pay rent for Charles’ fucking house.”

“They can?”

“Jack and Anne are fucking rich. I mean, you wouldn’t know by looking at them, and that’s the point. They have a shitty side job and they dress like they woke up in the gutter but they are fucking rich. Everyone buys from them. They just don’t flaunt it since Flint would find them if he got a single whiff of what they’re doing.” Eleanor explained. 

Abigail couldn’t help but be impressed. She brought her legs to her and rest her chin on her knee, looking at her fingers as she traced idle patterns on the sand. She suddenly stood up: 

“Eleanor.” She said seriously. “We’re on vacation. Bahamas vacation, baby. We’re not going to let them ruin it. We deserve to have a good time. Come. Come on, take my hand.” She hauled her friend up with some difficulty but Eleanor finally stood up. “We’re going to enjoy it, alright? Like, have fun and all. Guide me, where do we go to have some fun?” 

Eleanor chuckled and shook her head, but still wrapped her arm around Abigail’s waist and lead them to the jetty. 

They spent the afternoon around the pedestrian area of Nassau, where the shops were. Eleanor talked with some people she knew, but they mostly looked around at clothes and swimwear. Eleanor bought a new swimsuit that would “make Charles forget Teach even exists” while Abigail goodheartedly shook her head at her. 

They had a playful argument in another store in which Eleanor made Abigail try on some things: 

“Eleanor, I cannot possibly go out like that. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve worm since I was 9.” Abigail protested. 

“Abi, my dear, you need glasses. You look so fucking awesome in this. You look sexy. Like so sexy guys are not going to be able to focus on stuff.”

“They are going to laugh at me. And those shorts are… very short.” 

“The clothes are not the matter, your terrible self-esteem is. Take those, you look good.”

Towards the end of the day, they watched the sky start to dim a little, more clouds gather and the sun start to go down in the sky. They tried not to think about how they were now one day closer to going back to London. 

“Let’s go get some fucking ice cream.” Abigail decided. 

Eleanor looked at her like she had just said the most obscene thing in the world. She laughed in disbelief: “Let’s go get some fucking ice cream indeed.” She repeated, leading Abigail to the ice cream parlour on the jetty. 

They sat at the end of the jetty with their legs swinging in the air, listening to the runners and the families enjoying the end of the day like them. Abigail closed her eyes and inhaled the salty smell of the sea deeply, trying to engrave it in her memory. She could feel the slight chill of the end of the day on her skin, the breeze brought by the waves crashing in a lulling melody. She wondered what it would be like to be on a sailing boat, lying bellow deck, feeling gentle waves crashing against the hull. 

“How come our entire life isn’t like that?” Eleanor mumbled next to her.

“Well it could be, once you’re done studying. You could work here.”

“What about you? You could live here too.”

“I don’t think they need a lot of classics or literature teachers around here. Or anywhere.”

“You could be a translator here. Work here, send translations to London or wherever they need things translated.They always need translators at the mayor’s office.”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid the… magic of the place will disappear if I stay here. I wasn’t born here. I don’t really know the place. Let’s not talk about the future, alright? Let’s just enjoy the moment.” Abigail shrugged before eating some of her hazelnut ice cream. 

A short silence abated on them. 

“Eleanor…” Abigail called tentatively without tearing her eyes from the horizon. Eleanor hummed next to her, indicating that she was listening. “Is it very bad that I… I uhm… I’m interested in someone here?”

“Fucking finally!” Eleanor shouted, making some people turn to stare at them and a mother look sternly, scolding them for the curse word. “I hope it’s not Silver. Please don’t let it be Silver.”

“It’s not John!” Abigail protested. 

“Is it Max?”

“No, it’s not! I barely know her!”

“You barely know anyone, you just arrived!”

Abigail nodded at that, trying not to let sadness come with that statement. 

“Okay, okay… Is it Idelle? She acts like she’s interested but she’s taken you know that, right?”

“It’s not Idelle either, gosh…”

“Is that Jack?” Eleanor asked with a grimace.

“Jack? Gosh, Eleanor, I swear, Jack is like a brother! And if it were Jack, I wouldn’t be alive right now, Anne would have dumped my body in the harbour.”

“God, listen to yourself! We’re having such a bad influence on you! Okay, but I’m running out of ideas, did you meet them when I wasn’t looking? Is it Muldoon?”

“I don’t even know who Muldoon is.”

“It’s the guy who always hangs out with Silver, with the beard and the accent…”

“Oh, I didn’t know it was his name… But no, it’s not him. It’s… uhm…” Abigail took a deep breath to confess when she was interrupted by a familiar deep voice. 

“Here you are.” Charles said, holding a beer pack in offering. Eleanor patted the spot next to her, accepting it. 

“Were you looking all over for us?” Eleanor teased him. 

“Didn’t need to, I met Billy on the beach. He told me he saw you here.” He passed the beers to both of them before opening his own with a lighter. “What did you do to Billy by the way, Abigail? He looks like he’s seen an apparition when I described you to him.”

“Oh my god, is that Billy? Oh please tell me it’s Billy!” Eleanor nearly jumped on Abigail with a manic smile. 

“It’s not Billy. And I did nothing to him: I just met him the other day at the garden store.” Abigail protested, taking the lighter from Eleanor. 

“Who is Billy supposed to be here?” Charles asked, frowning. Or frowning a little more than usual. 

“Abigail’s finally found the one she’s going to fuck this vacation.” Eleanor answered unfazed by her language. 

“Oh yeah, heard Jack and Anne talk about something like that. So it’s not Billy?” Charles asked. 

Abigail shook her head and Eleanor mumbled: “Max is going to be so disappointed.” 

“Please tell me it’s not Silver.” Charles almost… pleaded.

“No, it’s not, why do everyone think it’s John?”

“We saw you two taking a walk. And he’s not exactly hard to look at.” Charles answered. “Lots of people would want to fuck him. But the last thing we need is Flint coming over to start a domestic or something…”

“It’s not John at all.” Abigail replied, seeing the tension leave Charles’ shoulders in a breath. She used her fingers as a lever and finally opened her beer with a very unbecoming groan. She presented her opened beer bottle in one hand and the beer cap in the other with a wide smile. 

Eleanor cheered her loudly, as if she had just gotten her diploma or something. Charles chuckled and toasted her. 

“I think I’m going to keep this secret a little while longer.” Abigail decided, taking a sip and looking back to the sinking sun colouring the sea red, orange and pink.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter is so late, I was in the moving-out thing and the Abigail's wet dream gave me some trouble. So, as agreed, this is the sixth chapter in two parts. I tend to write very very long chapters and I figured you might enjoy shorter chapters? Please tell me if you do? 
> 
> So this double-feature is also a sort of parting gift since as you know I'm going to move out and I don't know whether I'm going to have the time to write for a little while. However I can promise you that this is not the end! I do love that pairing a lot and I have plans for them! Chapter 7 is almost completely written anyway. 
> 
> Enough of the personal life stuff, I'd just like to give you a little warning before you start reading: violence occur during this chapter and a very unpleasant male character makes unwarranted advances to Abigail. There is no mention of any sexual violence of any kind and nothing happens to the girls except a few bruises. But if you're not comfortable reading it, please don't. Abigail ends up being a badass, I promise. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter and the next one! =)

_“I had another dream last night._

_It was raining on the window, and on the rooftop. The noise of the rain was loud enough to cover any other outside noise. Or was there no noise to be heard? I cannot really say where the dream took place. The room I was in didn’t look familiar but I felt comfortable enough in it to say that my dream-self knew it. I could see through her eyes, which is rare enough to give me pause now._

_I wasn’t alone in the room. Next to me, under the covers, was another body. For some reason, I never saw her face, but I could feel how soft and warm her skin was. She was entirely naked next to me. I was wearing a full garter-set like the one Eleanor had showed me, but this one was a nice sky-blue adorned with lace, which made it look like a bright blue sky. It was quite ironic._

_The woman next to me stretched and, before I could think of it, I felt my hands reach for her. I held her waist as delicately as I could, looking for softness and warmth. She laughed softly above me before pushing one hand in my hair, making me close my eyes. I could just feel it. When I close my eyes now, I think I can feel a remnant of it. Of the hands. Of the warmth. The other hand touched my shoulder, sliding down my back in a long caress, holding my hip before gently guiding me so I laid on my back._

_I still remember how this simple gesture, this sure grip and this gentle guidance felt. It made me want to keen, to squirm until we could get close again, to be still so she could guide me again. I could feel her smile in my neck. I know, rationally, than I never had anyone smile in my neck, I never had anyone do these things to me, and yet my brain produced those vivid images and my dream-body reacted to those images like it was used to them, as if it were familiar._

_It felt nice._

_I felt her lips against the thin, sensitive side of my neck, the hand in my hair tightening, pulling a little, and her other hand on my hip…_

_I feel ridiculous writing it in my journal like a teenager imagine what she thinks is “wicked things” about the bad boy who once smiled at someone behind her, making her believe he smiled at her._

_And yet the hand of my dream-lover went down from my hips and caressed me through the soft and flimsy underwear. It left me gasping. She touched me harder and I could feel how wet I was. I longed to touch her but now my hands were clutching the sheets and oneiric logic would not let me let go. I longed to be bold and put my hand between her legs to see if she was wet as well. I longed to put my thigh between her legs and clutch at her thigh with mine. I could almost taste how good it would feel._

_I could not, however, and I stopped caring, I stopped thinking when she cupped me through my underwear, her tongue licking at me wickedly, like I was some sort of treat. I could feel the heel of her hand pressing against my clitoris, giving me a lot and yet not enough. I remember keening again, trying to find purchase on the sheet with my feet to push into her hand, to change the angle into something that would allow a more satisfying pressure. It was good, it was so good but not enough at the same time. It was hinting at a pleasure I know I couldn’t have experience with and yet seemed to crave like something familiar._

_I sobbed and begged and planted my head in the pillows, stretching my neck, inviting her to taste more of me, to take more of me, to give me more… It is so very undignified._

_In the end, she laughed against my neck and slid her fingers up but I woke up before she could give me what I sought. How very frustrating. I spent a good minute laying in bed, blinking at the ceiling, feeling how wet I was and yet hesitant to touch myself. I didn’t. It felt slightly wrong to do it in Charles’ guest bedroom. It felt slightly wrong not to let her do it to me._

_What has she done to me? What am I doing to myself?”_

 

They stood in the living-room, waiting for Vane to finish his phone call. They looked like they were a council in a crisis situation. Which was exactly what they were. Except they were all in pyjamas. 

Vane ended the call with a curt: “Understood” and looked up. They all looked at him attentively. 

“His plane is landing in three hours. Jack, Anne, is your stuff ready?”

“Packed and ready to be moved to Silver’s place.” Jack confirmed.

“And the fucking cactae?”

“All in the neighbour’s garden. He won’t see it.” Anne mumbled.

“Good, from now on, we meet at the Benbow’s Inn. Don’t call, text. Did you hide your stuff?”

“We hid what we couldn’t carry in the closet.”

“Abigail, is your stuff ready to be moved to Jack and Anne’s room?”

Abigail nodded. 

“Good. Don’t go in the closet and prevent anyone from looking here. Jack, what about the plantation?”

“In a corner in Miranda’s back garden, like we agreed.”

“Why you would hide stuff even closer to the enemy is beyond me but it’s your stuff.” Vane sighed. “Eleanor, are we still good on what we agreed last night?”

“No direct confrontation and no passive-aggressive remarks.” Eleanor nodded reluctantly. “For all I know he’s my fucking father in law.”

“Good. Now, he’s only staying here a week, at most. He just needs to oversee this transaction I can’t tell you about because I don’t know anything about it, but it’s big. That, and the pearls. While he’s here, people are going to come to you, asking for stuff like being introduced. Under no circumstance do you bring them to Teach. Under. No. Circumstances. He’s going to be pissed, at them, and at you, and we don’t need that. Tell them that, if they want to be introduced, they need to do something worthy enough to not need an introduction. Abigail, people are going to try and take advantage of your innocence on those matters, they will try to seduce you, give you stuff, get you in bed, so they can get closer to him. Don’t fall for it. Anyone tries to get personal with you, give me their names, I’ll take care of them.”

“We’re talking big stuff. Like people giving you diamonds and promising you trips to Vienna.” Eleanor added.

Abigail nodded: “No suitors, no gifts.” 

“Concerning that person that you want to… uhm… Don’t introduce them and don’t promise them anything. The police is going to be all over our asses as well so fucking behave. No being drunk in the streets, no smoking in the open,” Vane warned, looking at Jack and Anne. “We’re just honest people living our honest lives as far as they are concerned. No bragging about your connections to anyone. Basically you all fucking lay as low as possible while he’s here. Is that understood?” 

They all agreed. 

They had barely slept five hours, cleaning the entire place so that it could look like a respectable house from an Ikea catalogue. The entire place still smelt like detergent and she would never forget the picture of Charles nervously doing laundry.

“Good, so now, let’s dive right in the fucking problem.”

“I’ll make coffee.” Jack declared. 

“If you get a single spot in the kitchen I spent three hours cleaning last night, I’ll kill, it’s not even a joke.” Eleanor promised. 

“We drink coffee in the kitchen to minimize the chances of getting stains.” Charles commanded and they all moved to the kitchen, standing there awkwardly while Jack was making coffee and Abigail was getting the cups she had cleaned just last night. 

They all looked like they needed coffee. A lot of coffee. 

“Now, the thing is, the client, the big secret client who either thinks he’s in a freaking Hollywood movie or is so big he can’t show his face, has requested a sample. It’s common for commands that big and that’s why Teach is coming over. So his presence prevents the client from getting any ideas. But Teach can’t go or Flint is going to find a way to arrest him for possession. Same goes for me. Jack, Anne, I need you to talk to anyone reliable who might be interested in taking the sample to the client. Someone who can drive to the address he gave us. It’s an abandoned house inland. Not too far but they have to have a reliable car. Something that doesn’t attract the police’s attention and doesn’t break down on the side of the road. We can pay them. Have them here in two hours.”

“I’ll go.” Eleanor interrupted. 

“What?” Vane looked at her as if she was out of her mind. 

“I’ll go give the sample to the client. I know how to deal with them. Plus you won’t have to pay me. Just give me a car. The van will do just fine.”

“Are you crazy? We don’t know shit about this client, you can’t go out there all by yourself!”

“I’ll come with you.” Abigail suddenly added. 

“Abigail, I promised you that you wouldn’t get caught in this anymore…” Eleanor shook her head. 

“Plus the client is going to laugh at us if we send them two girls with a sample, I mean, how ridiculous will we look?” Jack remarked. 

“We won’t.” Abigail interfered. “We won’t look ridiculous. We’ll look like two very cleverly disguised criminals. You told me yourself, Jack: I would be the best criminal because no one would even believe I’m a criminal. Eleanor and I go out there and you look like you’re so clever you send people the police would suspect the least. No one would even look twice at us at the airport, why would they now? Your client will notice that and will know that you’re careful and clever. And we don’t look threatening so they won’t get any idea like we’re trying to set a trap or anything. We’re just here to deliver a sample.”

They all looked at her. Abigail tried to look at them without fidgeting. She could hear her heart beat madly in her chest and a voice in her head screaming at her to drop the idea and run as fast as she could. She swallowed and crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying to look more serious. 

“Can’t bloody believe it.” Anne declared, shaking her head. 

Vane was looking at her like he was trying to look inside her. Or maybe try to tear her apart. Discourage her. She wasn’t sure. He took a step towards her, as serious as she had ever seen him. He looked truly menacing. She looked up at him, craning her neck a little to look at him in the eye. She guessed it was what he expected of her: not a blushing shy girl but someone capable of dealing with men as frightening as him. 

She tried not to think of all the selfies Eleanor had showed her. 

After a minute, he let her eyes go and nodded: “Okay, Eleanor, Abigail, you go. You’re leaving in two hours. Jack, go air the van so it doesn’t smell if they ever get pulled over.” 

***

Eleanor and Abigail were wearing towels, standing side by side in front of Abigail’s bed where their clothes were laid out. Abigail could see that Eleanor was nervous and trying her best to hide it. 

As far as Abigail herself was concerned, she could beyond nervousness. She had never felt that level of nervousness since that last latin exam. She had ni idea why she got herself in something she could have avoided so easily. 

Maybe she wanted to belong. Maybe she was afraid of the unknown Teach and was trying to… do something worthy enough so that she wouldn’t need to be introduced. 

What madness was that even. 

“Okay,” Eleanor took a deep breath. “So, nothing that could be interpreted as sexy or as prude. Nothing too holiday-like. We need to look as nondescript as possible.”

Abigail pushed all the dresses, the shorts and most of the skirts on one side. Eleanor plucked two pairs of trousers: “Let’s wear those and shirts, maybe?”

“Shirts are a little formal, don’t you think? T-shirts would be more ‘we’re just visiting around’ don’t you think?” Abigail objected. 

“My God, Abi, what the fuck were you thinking, I swear!” Eleanor sighed. “I can’t believe we’re choosing clothes to wear at a drug deal when yesterday we were just shopping for whatever would look good on us.” She said, sitting on the bed, looking defeated.

“Come on, Eleanor, the faster we do this, the faster we’re out of there. Look, why don’t you wear this t-shirt? It’s simple and nice…” Abigail reassured her, handing her a loose white t-shirt. 

Eleanor took it with a poor smile: “Let’s get this over with.” 

***

“So,” Jack teased them, “line up and let us take a good at your dealer outfits.”

“We ‘re not dealers, we’re just carriers.” Eleanor retorted. 

Abigail just did a little spin to show her black trousers and her wine-coloured t-shirt. The absurdity of it all was starting to get to her. 

Vane looked at them thoughtfully for a minute before nodding, approving their outfits: “Now, listen up for the final details: the van has a GPS in which I put the address so you just have to follow the directions. Drive safely and be careful not to give anyone a single reason to be suspicious.”

Vane held up a brown paper package: “This is the sample. It is good. Highest quality they can find in that quantity for such a reasonable price. The price has already been agreed upon, this is just a courtesy we’re doing for them, so no re-negotiation. None.” The two girls nodded. “You come in, you give them the package, you let them have a taste, if they need to talk privately, you wait outside, and then, they give you a third of the money. You need to check the money, alright? It needs to be all here. You do not take less. I’ll have a guy here to check if it’s real so you don’t need to check that, just check if it’s all here while you’re still in the room with them. If it’s less, don’t take it, just leave it, take the sample and get out of here. I don’t need to tell you you’re likely to be outnumbered. Don’t make things complicated. Stay cordial but firm.” 

Vane held out a single handgun. He showed it to the two astonished girls: “This is the only weapon you’re going to have. Having too many would show we’re expecting things to go wrong. Eleanor, you know how to shoot, you’re the only one handling it. Keep it in the car so they don’t confiscate it when they search you. Put the gun and this phone…” Vane held out an old phone. “in the car, under the seat, where it’s hidden from sight and easy to reach. Do not use it if you can help it, and I’m firm about this: only use it if your life is in danger and there is no other way. Call me before you shoot so I can get an appropriate clean-up team ready. I’d prefer if nothing like this happened so do your best to calm down any escalating situation.” Vane said, looking sternly at Eleanor. 

“Do things quick and efficient. You come in, you exchange goods, and you’re out of there. That’s it. Is that understood?” Vane concluded. 

The two girls nodded. 

Jack hugged Abigail, trying to make her change her mind one last time, soothing her nervous trembling by rubbing her back, for which Abigail was enormously grateful. She still affirmed that she wasn’t going to back down now. Jack nodded and squeezed her one last time. Anne pressed a quick kiss on her forehead, which was actually so quick that Abigail thought she was being headbutted for a moment, before realizing what was happening: “Come back all grown-up, baby criminal.” Anne mumbled. 

On those good words, Jack and Anne shouldered their bags and shoved them in the other car, ready to move out to Silver's place. Abigail and Eleanor climbed inside the van. Vane kissed Eleanor one last time through the rolled-down window and whispered a: “Be fucking careful” that Abigail pretended she hadn’t heard.

And off they were. 

 

***

“Turn Lana del Rey down, we’re approaching.” Eleanor ordered. Abigail turned the CD player off, looking around them. 

“Turn left here and we should be there.” Abigail instructed Eleanor, following the indications of the GPS. 

“Okay, okay, okay, here we are…” Eleanor whispered to herself, tapping her fingers on the wheel. 

“Come in, exchange the goods, and get out.” Abigail repeated. 

Eleanor parked the car in a gravel driveway in front of the ruin of a house, with grey crumbling walls. They could see two cars parked among the trees, behind the house. All the widows were covered by drapes and the front door was closed. 

The sky was slightly more clouded over than it had been yesterday and the wind was rising. Abigail was glad she wasn’t wearing one of her flimsy dresses. 

“Hold the package and let me do the talking.” Eleanor told Abigail before they got out of the car. 

As soon as they closed the doors, two armed men got out of the house:

“What are you doing here?” 

“Vane sent us. We have the sample.” Eleanor answered and Abigail had to say she was impressed by how calm her voice sounded. 

“Hand us the sample. We have to search you before you can enter.”

“We’re not armed.”

“Yeah, well, excuse us if we don’t trust you.”

Abigail handed the package to a tall man with a beard who distinctly smelled of sweat and smoke. She disliked the way he looked at her and touched her while he searched her for weapons but didn’t say anything. They were ushered in. 

The house didn’t have a roof and grass were slipping through cracks in the floor. It would have looked poetic, had it not been littered with empty beer cans, gutted mattresses, armchairs, and remnants of campfires. There were three more men inside. All armed. 

Among them, Ned Lowe. 

Abigail froze and looked at Eleanor before she could think. Eleanor glanced at her quickly before whispering urgently: “Calm down.”

Shit. 

Shit, shit, Abigail thought. There was no way he wouldn’t recognize her, or what Vane told him at his party. 

She couldn’t escape now. 

The man who had taken the package from her brought it to him. 

“It’s the sample you requested.” Eleanor told him. “Courtesy of Charles Vane.”

Ned Lowe chuckled and Abigail had to fight a cold shiver. He looked up at them: “So Vane sends school girls as carriers now. Times are tough.”

When Eleanor didn’t answer, he looked up to stare at them. 

Abigail felt physically sick when she realized that Ned Lowe had recognized her. Here was the coldness again. She hadn’t missed it. 

“Hey, if that isn’t my friend… Abigail, is that right?” Ned Lowe said in a mock-happy tone which terrified her. He snatched the package from his man, opening it slowly as he walked to the two girls. “Of course it’s Abigail, how could I ever forget such a woman? Beautiful as the moon, and just as cold.” 

Eleanor looked at her, frowning. Abigail whispered: “Ned Lowe.” and felt her friend tense. Now she remembered too. 

“Vane isn’t here to speak for you now, is he?” The man said, smiling, the open package in his hand. He whipped a knife from his belt, making Abigail startle badly. It apparently delighted him and he smiled once again before plunging the knife in the package, rummaging around before “tasting” it. He tossed the package to one of his men, ordering him to taste it as well. 

“So, what have got to say to me now?” Ned asked Abigail, walking to her like a predator. 

“We came here to deliver the sample and get a third of the price, like you promised.” Abigail answered, doing her best to steady her voice. 

“Oh, a business woman.” Ned mocked. “I like that. Business first, then. Come hither.” 

He took her hand in his and, when Abigail tried to remove her hand, he gripped it with a stare. Abigail remembered Charles’ order not to make tense situations escalate and let him guide her by the hand, glancing quickly at Eleanor who was just about ready to murder someone. Abigail didn’t like her helplessness in this situation at. all. She hoped the transaction was over soon. She wondered if she should ask Charles to do something about this. 

Ned Lowe guided them over to the sofa he had been sitting on when they entered. On the gutted cushion was sitting a grey duffel bag: “It’s all here, you can count it.” Ned told Eleanor, still not letting Abigail’s hand go. 

Eleanor stared at the man before opening the bag. Abigail felt his fingers relax slightly and tried to gently pry her fingers from his grip, moving closer to Eleanor. 

That had apparently been the wrong thing to do. Ned’s hand closed on hers again, harder this time, crushing her fingers so painfully Abigail had to bite her lip not to scream in pain. Ned chuckled a little, using his grip on her hand to drag her back to him before sitting on the armrest of the sofa. He smiled at her in a caricature of a sweet smile. Abigail tried not to shake too much but she could feel her hand getting numb in his. 

“So, Vane interrupted us last time, that was quite rude of him. We were just having a nice time, you and I, weren’t we?”

Abigail didn’t know what to say to make him let go of her hand. She stammered uselessly for a minute while he watched. Finally he cut in: “Go on, you can tell me. Weren’t we having a good time at that party?”

Abigail shook her head no slowly, saying in the smallest voice: “I was scared.”

“Scared?” Ned laughed, making Abigail flinch. “Scared of me? That’s sweet. That’s very sweet. Honestly, it just makes me want you more.” 

“Okay, it’s all there.” Eleanor intervened. There was no way she had counted it all, but Abigail had to say, she couldn’t care less about the money at this moment. “Abigail, let’s go.”

Abigail nodded and tried to take her hand back. Ned tutted at her, not letting her go. 

Okay, now she was scared. 

“You have the sample, we have the money, let’s not waste any more of your time.” Eleanor tried. 

“So, Abigail,” Ned continued as if Eleanor had not spoken at all. “What about a date? Just you and me, no one to interrupt. Would you like that?”

“I’m sorry, but I… I’m not really… interested…” Abigail stammered. 

“Aw. Come on. I’m trying to be nice here, and you’re being quite rude, Abigail. You’re a pretty girl, but you have to make some effort here. Meet me halfway.” 

One of the men laughed. It sounded ominous. 

That seemed to be Eleanor’s breaking point. She put the bag down and stared at Ned: “Now you listen here: we’re here to make a simple exchange, we’ve made it. Now Abigail doesn’t have to meet you halfway or at all. She said no, so take the hint and let her go, you’re hurting her.”

Ned Lowe looked at Eleanor silently for a moment. Then he had a smile so cruel it made Abigail freeze, as if she could maybe disappear if she sopped moving entirely. He stood up and finally released Abigail’s hand. She quickly took two steps back, out of his reach, stretching her fingers, feeling blood flowing back in her discoloured fingers. 

“You think you can come to my place and order _me_ around?” Ned asked Eleanor, walking to her. 

“It’s not your place. You’re just staying here because Vane allows it. And he’s not going to allow it for long when he learns that you’re hitting on a girl he told you not to hit on.”

Ned nodded before looking at his men who immediately adjusted their grip on their weapons. Abigail looked all around for the closest exit. She found a window frame. She remembered seeing it from the outside: this one wasn’t that high. You could easily jump through it without hurting yourself. She just needed a diversion, quick, a diversion. 

“I think I remember you now.” Ned told Eleanor. “You’re Vane’s girlfriend. And you think you can talk to people that way because he fucks you.”

Eleanor tried to punch him but Ned anticipated the movement and caught her arm before she could connect the punch. He then brought his knee to her ribcage, cutting off her air. She bent over under the force of it. Abigail had to bring her hands to her mouth to hold in a scream. 

She felt her head gear in in full panic mode. Now the situation had escalated. 

Without thinking she pushed Ned who didn’t anticipate it and fell easily into the sofa. Abigail took Eleanor’s wrist and dragged her over the window. She ran straight into one of the men who cut their escape route. She fell over, dragging Eleanor with her in her fall. 

Ned Lowe was laughing. It was a cold, mirthless, cruel laugh. Abigail felt Eleanor slipping something in her hand. She felt the cold metal of the car keys. She looked at her quizzically. Eleanor pretended to take Abigail’s shoulder for leverage in order to whisper urgently to her ear: “Run to the car. Call Charles.”

“Hey, hey, now, girls, no more secrets. Come on, include us to the discussion.” Ned interrupted them. “Come on, I was a little rude, I admit. But you both proved you were equally feisty, which I like in women. Is that why you weren’t interested in me?” Ned asked, kneeling in front of them. “Because you’re into Vane’s girlfriend? Is that it?” 

Eleanor saw the opportunity and took it. She kicked Ned crotch as hard as she could, making him back right back on his ass, creating the perfect distraction for Abigail to stand up and run for the window while Ned’s men were running to his aid. 

Abigail stepped on the windowsill and was jumping out of the window before she could even think about what she was doing. She fell hard on her knees and rolled in grass, protecting her head with her arms, feeling the keys dig painfully in the palm of her clutched hand. 

Ignoring the pain in her right ankle, she stood up, staggering for a moment, falling on her knees again, before scrambling to stand up again. She ran to the car, connecting with the door before scrambling with the keys to open it. A remote corner of her mind registered her short breathe, her beating heart and the blood on her palm and on her chin. The other part was just steadying her hands enough to reach for the phone under the seat. 

As she punched Vane’s number, the only contact stored in the phone, she looked at the house, expecting Eleanor to get out at any minute. She felt the metallic taste of panic fill her mouth when she couldn’t see her come out. 

“What is it? Is it done?” Charles’ voice finally said at the other end. 

“Charles, it’s Ned Lowe.” Abigail panted in the phone. “The client. It’s Ned Lowe. It’s gone all wrong. They have Eleanor.”

“What?” She heard Charles roar. “I’m coming over. Take the gun and hide. Shoot anyone that isn’t me or Eleanor.” 

Vane hung up, leaving Abigail, trembling, looking around her like a hunted deer, trying to see from where the hunter will arrive. She put the phone in her pocket distractedly and reached for the gun. 

She heard Ned Lowe’s cruel laugh coming from inside. 

Abigail found the gun, her fingers tightening on the handle.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the second part! 
> 
> We must part now for a little while but I really want to thank you for reading it and commenting it! andrea_deer, you're a sweetheart and your comments are so nice and thoughtful! And of course, my dearest Wirrwarr, what would I even do without you to encourage me? 
> 
> I'll try to answer your reviews of course and you can always find me on tumblr (a-adastra and all) and I really hope you enjoy this chapter! =)

“Let her go!” Abigail heard herself shout from the doorstep, gun pointed at Ned Lowe. Eleanor was kneeling, clutching her face as if she had just been punched. Abigail could see blood. “Let her go or I’ll shoot you!”

Her voice was too shrill, she sounded like she was hysteric, she had her hair in her face and her arms were trembling so much she doubted she looked menacing. But Ned Lowe did stop and held his hands up, clearly mocking her: “Oh, look what we got here. Someone just couldn’t leave the party. Did you miss me that much?”

“I called Vane, he’s on his way here. He’s not going to be happy when he sees what you’ve done to Eleanor. Not happy at all.”

“Yeah, he’s not going to be very happy when he sees what I’ve done to both of you when he arrives here in what… an hour?” 

The men laughed. Abigail cocked the gun, glad Charles had taught her how to do it. She was shaking so much she nearly dropped the gun, eliciting renewed laughter from the men. 

“Come on, Abigail, sweetheart. What do you think you’re doing with this gun? You’re shaking so much you can’t believe you’re going to actually shoot. A good girl like you never held a gun before. Now, you’re just going to hurt yourself, or hurt your girlfriend over here. Give me the gun.”

Abigail just shook her head no, still holding the gun to Ned’s chest. Vane had told her to aim for the chest. Broader, easier to hit, even with a bad aim. Chances to hit the crotch, Anne had added. 

“Now, you’re distraught, I understand.” Ned continued, using a placating tone. “But you have to realize that you’re alone with a handgun that has what, six bullets? And I have four armed men. Now, the balance is a little…” Ned imitated the two plates of a balance being unequal with his two hands. 

Startled by the movement, Abigail put her finger on the trigger of the gun, pointing it more resolutely to Ned’s chest. For a second, she thought she caught a glimmer of fear in his eye. 

“Why don’t you put the gun down in exchange for the promise that I don’t hurt your friend again? How about that?” His tone was so gentle that Abigail felt herself hesitate for a second, looking over to Eleanor.

Ned took advantage of it to lung for her. 

Abigail didn’t think. Just pulled the trigger. 

The force of it sent her a couple of paces back. She felt a burn on her right cheekbone and a shrill, deafening noise in her ears. She saw Ned fall down, hands on his thigh and, the next thing she knew, someone was dragging her out the door, holding her upper arm painfully. She did her best to run, barely knowing where she was going. She was pushed inside the car, her hands still clasped on the gun, eyes blinking in an effort to jerk right back in the present. 

The car started and when she came to, Abigail was looking at the road they had taken to come to the house. She turned to Eleanor. Her lip was cut, blood drying on her chin, her cheek was swollen and her eye was turning purple. Tears were streaming down her face. 

Abigail looked down at her hands. Her left palm was bleeding. Her knees too. Her ankle hurt. She could feel cramps in her arms from how tight she was clutching at her gun. Her right cheekbone felt like it was burning. Her ears still rung faintly. 

Eleanor was driving fast, swearing profusely through the tears. 

“It’s okay.” Abigail said. “It’s okay. Charles is coming to get us. He’ll help us. It’s okay.” 

“Oh fuck, Abi, you were supposed to run!” Eleanor shouted, clearly panicked. 

“I wasn’t going to let you with them!” Abigail shouted back. 

“Shit! Thanks!” Eleanor replied, still shouting. 

She laughed. Abigail joined her, letting the tension drain out from them with their shrill, nervous laugh as Eleanor was speeding along the small inland route. 

That was when they heard the sirens. 

“Shit! Shit! Fuck, shit…” Eleanor swore, checking the rear mirror. “Put the gun back under the seat, the phone too if you still have it.” She ordered Abigail. “Help me put the seatbelt on and put your own. Put your hair over the burn on your cheekbone and try to look as innocent as possible. With some luck it’s DeGroot or fucking Dufresne and they’re going to let us go with a warning.”

Eleanor put her blinker on and stopped on the side of the road. The police car stopped behind them, turning the sirens off. Abigail tried to look over her shoulder to see if Ned’s men weren’t following them but Eleanor berated her: “Don’t look over. We’re cool, relaxed and innocent.”

This had got to be a joke. 

“Shit, it’s Flint.” Eleanor swore, looking at the rear mirror again.

The police officer walked over to their car and knocked on the window. Eleanor rolled it down, visibly shaking, plastering on a smile. 

It was the ginger man Abigail had seen in Miranda’s kitchen. John’s lover. That police officer who never let anything slide. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” Eleanor started to bullshit him with a pleasing voice and a smile. “I didn’t know you worked day shifts as well.”

Flint didn’t look impressed. He stared hard at Eleanor for a second before looking over at Abigail. He sighed deeply. 

“I bet you were counting on me not being around here to drive so recklessly. Do you have any idea how fast you were going?”

“A bit too fast?” Eleanor soldiered on. “Sorry about that. We’re just… eager to get home, you know how it is. But we’re definitively going to slow down for the rest of the way. Really slow down. Thank you for letting us know, sir.”

Flint sighed again, hands on his belt: “Cut the crap, Eleanor. You know you were going way too fast. And what happened to your faces?”

“Oh, that? Nothing, really, we… We had a pool party last night and we… slipped.” Eleanor winced, opening the cut on her lip again. She winced again and brought a hand to her face. 

“Did Vane do that?” Flint asked through his teeth. 

“Charles?” Eleanor protested. “No, he didn’t! I mean, we all know you’ve got a fucking problem with Charles but this is biased! He didn’t hit us.”

Flint seemed to think for a little while. Abigail felt her heart beat madly in her chest. He looked so stern, severe, remote, like nothing could ever touch or even approach him. She couldn’t help but feel awed at the fact that John had slipped through cracks she couldn’t even believe were there. 

“Get out of the car, both of you.” He finally decided. Abigail immediately went for the door, but Eleanor prevented her, clutching her arm. “Eleanor.” Flint said, looking like an angry parent warning their wayward child. “You’re in no state to drive, you could have an accident, so get out of the car and get in mine.”

“Are you driving us home?” Abigail asked, cursing herself for her overly hopeful tone. He looked at her, as if he was trying to pierce right through her with his sea-green eyes. She immediately looked down again, as she usually did when she was being grounded by her father. 

“If by ‘home’ you mean the police station, then yes.” He replied gruffly. 

“What?!” Eleanor nearly shouted in Flint’s ear, the remnants of panic highly noticeable in her voice. “We’ve done nothing warranting an arrest!”

“Then you won’t mind showing me the licence for that gun under the seat,” Flint replied with a deadly calm. “And explaining to me under what circumstances your friend fired it less than an hour ago. And you could also tell me what you’re running away from, driving like that.” There was a silence. “No? Then get in my car before you add ‘resisting arrest’ to the list and make me handcuff you.” 

Eleanor looked at Abigail and nodded. They both got out of the car and were ushered in the backseat of Flint’s police car. 

Abigail realized that she had never been a police car before. She had never been arrested. She had never even been talked off by a police officer. 

Flint climbed behind the wheel and Abigail found herself stare at the back of his head. She remembered the man she had seen in Miranda’s kitchen, how peaceful he looked, almost content, almost happy, next to Miranda. She remembered what Silver had revealed to her: that Miranda and him had history. That they had been together but weren’t anymore. That they were a mystery of the name of T.H. between the two of them. That their names might not even be their real names.

“Buckle up.” He commanded shortly and the two girls immediately obeyed, Eleanor mumbling. 

Abigail fell asleep against the car window, lulled by Flint’s smooth driving, and finally overwhelmed by exhaustion. 

She woke up when she felt Eleanor’s head, which had transformed Abigail’s shoulder in a pillow for the drive, being lifted off. She groaned and wearily opened her eyes. Flint was holding the car door open, helping Eleanor out with surprising gentleness. He made sure Eleanor could stand on her own before he reached inside again, gently unbuckling Abigail’s seatbelt: “Come on, we’re here.” 

Abigail looked all around her, feeling tension build back in her shoulders. They were in a parking lot. The police station’s parking lot. She pushed her hair back from her face, wincing when her hand brushed against the burn on her cheekbone. 

She heard a car nearby and turned her head to try and see where it came from, if it was Ned Lowe and his men, if…

“They’re not going to find you here.” Flint reassured her. “Come on.” 

She nodded and got out of the car, standing next to Eleanor who immediately slipped her hand in hers. Flint closed the car and lead them in the station. Everything seemed calm here. Abigail saw a police officer take a deposition but most of them were gathered in the central space where all the desks were. They were chatting, holding coffee mugs, clearly not overly bothered with working. 

Flint scolded silently at them. 

One of the youngest men, head shaven close with small round glasses smirked at Eleanor and walked to them: “Eleanor… You, here… What happened to being protected by Vane?” He said, smugly. 

Abigail had to hold Eleanor’s arm with all her strength to prevent her from punching the guy. They were in enough trouble without adding ‘assaulting a police officer in the middle of the police station’ to the list. Flint put himself between Eleanor and the man, calming both of them with a strong: “Hey! Calm down. Both of you. Dufresne, didn’t I give you something to do before I left?” 

The police officer, Dufresne, mumbled something, looking down at Eleanor who looked ready for murder, before backing down, leaving the room with his jacket. 

Flint lead them to his office, near the holding cells. Abigail could tell it wasn’t a very nice place for an office and she could almost immediately feel how cut-off and alienated Flint was from the rest of the police officers. He seemed to be… distant and aloof wherever he went. Everything inside was just as severe and clear-cut. There were no pictures on the desk, no stray piece of paper, no empty mugs, no long-gone-cold coffee smell. It looked clean and impersonal. Just like Flint. 

Eleanor sat rather heavily in one of the chairs in front of Flint’s desk with something like familiarity. Abigail sat next to her, back straight, hands on her lap, as if she was going to be asked to recite her lesson any minute now. Flint was still staring at her. It made her slightly uncomfortable. He didn’t sit, just ordered them to “sit still” before leaving them in his office. 

As soon as he was gone, Eleanor looked up and shifted closer to Abigail, whispering urgently: “We need an escape plan. We can’t ask for Charles to come and get us, Flint will find a way to arrest him if he ever sets a foot in here.”

“Well, what do we actually risk? Do we risk prison?” Abigail whispered back, felling panic rise back in her chest, fighting her drowsiness. 

“No, he can’t present anything solid in court, there are no proof. The worst we can get is a night in and maybe some bail to pay. Charles has the money to pay for it. But we have one phone call each so we need to think about who we’re going to call.”

“A lawyer?”

“Let’s not make the situation escalate.” Eleanor placated her. Abigail tried not to laugh hysterically. She pressed her hands to her face. “I can call Charles and tell him to call someone else to come and get us. Not Jack and Anne: Flint is going to arrest them on smell alone.” 

They were cut short by Flint walking back to his office, a bag of frozen croissants in one hand and a wet towel in the other. He handed the frozen croissants to Eleanor who pressed it to her face with a grimace and held the wet towel to Abigail: “Not much we can do about the burn on your cheekbone but this might do your hands and your knees some good.” He said in his usual grumpy tone. “You were limping when you walked to the station, what happened to your leg? Is it broken?”

Abigail took the towel, pressing it to her right knee first. She shook her head no: “I don’t think it’s broken. It might be sprained. I don’t know.” 

Flint sat behind his desk, shaking his head in disbelief: “So, you girls just had to drive recklessly as if you had the devil on your heels right the day I work an extra shift before my vacation.” He said. Coming from anyone else, it might have created some connivence between them, but Flint’s eyes were too stern for that. “What happened? How did you get in this mess?”

Abigail glanced at Eleanor, seeking help, but Eleanor remained stubbornly silent. Abigail took charge: 

“Those… guys. They were threatening us. They wouldn’t let us go. They were hurting Eleanor. So I had to escape and then I took one of their guns and I asked them to let her go, and I shot one of them. As a warning shot. To tell them I was being serious about this. I’m… fairly sure I didn’t kill him. So we escaped, but we were afraid they were going to come after us so we were driving a bit fast. And that’s…. it.” She explained. 

Flint was rubbing his hands on his face. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked completely exhausted. Abigail couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Just a little. He probably never thought he would spend his police officer career preventing drunk kids from using elementary school swings and dealing with their half-truths and questionable decisions. 

“Who were those guys?” He asked. 

“I don’t know. I just… There was one of them… I met at a party a few days before, and I… wouldn’t respond to his… Well… He probably followed us with his… friends because of that.” Abigail answered as calmly as possible. 

She could tell Flint knew she wasn’t telling the entire truth but they also both knew she was telling most of the truth. He could probably easily fill in the blanks with his suspicions of Vane’s business. 

“You have one phone call each. Eleanor, I suggest you call Mr Scott if he’s in Nassau at the moment. Just make sure you don’t spend the night here. We’re going to run out of frozen croissants.” Flint finally told them. 

He stood up again and went to get the phone. As soon as he was out of sight, Abigail turned to Eleanor: “I need Jack’s number.”

“Jack? I told you he couldn’t come get us without getting arrested!”

“You’re right, he can’t come get us, but he can call someone who can. Trust me. We always have your call if this doesn’t work. Now, please, give me Jack’s number.”

“Fine.”

A minute later, Abigail was sitting in an interrogation room, alone, pressing Jack’s number in the phone Flint had just given her before leaving to keep an eye on Eleanor. Jack picked up on the third ring: “Jack Rackham speaking, how may I help you on this beautiful day?”

“Jack, it’s Abigail.”

“Abigail, god, where are you? Charles is on his way to take care of Ned Lowe. Teach is probably with him so it’s going to get bloody. Are you alright? Are you safe? Do you need someone to come and get you?”

“I’m at the police station. Don’t freak out! Don’t freak out! We had nothing on us, neither the money, not the sample. We just had a gun we didn’t have a licence for. Now, I know you can’t come to the station, but could you… Could you ask Miranda to do it?”

“Miranda? I don’t know if she’ll say yes…”

“Please Jack? I can’t ask anyone else. We only have one phone call left. Eleanor is ready to get her father’s lawyer into this.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll ask Miranda. Thank god Charles isn’t here. From now on, don’t say anything else to any police officer, alright? Stay put.”

“Well, it’s not like we’re going anywhere.” Abigail said, looking around her. 

***

An hour later found Eleanor and Abigail sleeping in a cell. Flint had given them scratchy blankets and atrocious hot tea. Eleanor was sleeping with her head on Abigail’s lap who was slowly slipping into Morpheus’ arms herself. She could still feel pain in her ankle, in her knees and in her hands, but it all seemed washed away by the utter exhaustion she was feeling. 

She still heard the rhythmical noise of high heels on tile floor, quite hurried, and looked up just in time to see Miranda and John walk in the station, quickly joined by a puzzled Flint. He guided them into his office where they had what looked like an argument in whispers.

Miranda was wearing another severe and classy grey suit, with her hair in a bun. She looked worried. Abigail felt bad for resorting to her, for putting her in that position. She looked down, trying not to pry on what looked like a private conversation, when Miranda put both her hands on Flint’s shoulders, visibly trying to calm him down, to contain his anger. John, on the other hand, was wearing an over-sized sweater, probably not his, certainly Flint’s, looking like he just woke up. He was trying on a cajoling smile, stroking Flint’s arm so tenderly and intimately that Abigail had to look away.

Ten minutes later, Flint was opening their cell, looking absolutely murderous. Abigail flinched at the loud noise, quickly waking Eleanor up. 

“Nice little trick.” Flint commented. “Your bail’s been paid, you can go now. Make sure you never get arrested again.” It almost sounded like a threat. 

Abigail could feel Flint’s anger coming off in waves, barely contained. He was standing tall, rigid as if he had been carved from stone. Abigail felt the urge to apologize but couldn’t find the words. She was afraid of antagonizing him further. 

Miranda was standing behind him, still looking worried. “James,” she admonished him, “Can’t you see they’re in shock?” She turned to the two drowsy girls. “Come on, you two, we’re going home.”

Eleanor mumbled her thanks before leaving the cell as quickly as she could, as if she was afraid of Flint changing his mind. 

Abigail walked straight into Miranda’s arms, burying her face in Miranda’s neck, holding on to her for dear life. Now that Miranda was here and things seemed to settle, she could feel everything flowing back to her, like blood into fingers that had been squeezed too tight. 

And there was so much of it. Anticipation, anger, panic, fear, pain, uncertainty… She could feel them slipping away as she was trying to hold them back, fold them away. The state-beyond-panic she had been feeling since jumping out of the window broke and crumbled like the walls of a tower under attack and she felt herself shake badly, tears welling up in her eyes despite her doing her best to blink them away. She felt cold and tried to seek Miranda’s warmth, holding on to her as if she were the last débris in the storm. She tried to take deep breaths to calm herself down, to not fall apart right here in the station, but she could feel Miranda rocking her slightly, holding her tight, caressing her hair so gently it just made her cry harder. 

She could hear herself repeat “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” like a prayer to a merciful goddess. 

She couldn’t, however, see the way Flint looked at Miranda consoling her, nor the way Miranda was looking back at Flint, like she was lost in her feelings herself. 

It took a full minute for Abigail to calm herself down enough to let go of Miranda. She took a deep breath and let her arms fall slowly. Miranda hooked a finger under her chin and examined her face: “You’re all bruised up, my darling. And you’re shaking. Are you cold?” Abigail nodded wordlessly. “Come, I’ll take you home, alright?” She gently guided Abigail out of the station by her elbow. 

Miranda nodded her thanks to Flint who nodded right back before turning to John who was tugging him back to his office where he distracted him with a gentle kiss under which Flint melted. 

On the parking lot, Eleanor and Jack were talking in harsh whispers. Miranda joined them: “I’m going to take Abigail home.” She declared. “She needs to take a hot shower and to sleep it off. Do you have a place to stay?” 

“I’ll come back to Charles’ home.” Eleanor replied. “Charles said he would take care of Ned so he’s going to take care of it. Jack, Anne, thank you for calling Miranda…”

“I hope Charles is going to make the son of a bitch pay dearly for that.” Anne answered, looking at Abigail’s face. 

“If you’ve got no doubt about that.” Jack said. “We need to go before any cop get any ideas. Miranda, thank you again for doing this for us. Abigail, get some rest, we’re going to see you soon.”

Miranda opened the door for Abigail and helped her get in the front seat while Eleanor sat in the back seat. Abigail was silent for the entire ride, hands on her lap, staring through the window. Miranda did her best to keep her eyes on the road. She was glad the drive wasn’t a very long one. She could almost see the wheels turning behind Abigail’s forehead and she wanted to reach out, take her hand, caress her thigh and tell her everything was going to be alright. 

Not while Eleanor was in the car. 

The young woman didn’t spend one moment longer than necessary in the backseat,t hat being said. As soon as Miranda pulled over in her driveway, Eleanor was out of the car, thanking Miranda for the ride, and was almost closing the front door before Miranda could reply. She sighed and turned towards Abigail, calling her gently back into the present. 

The young woman startled a little but calmed down when she turned to Miranda. 

“Come, we’re almost there.” She encouraged her. 

They got inside the house, Miranda frowning at Abigail’s slight limp, before leading her to the bathroom, collecting some warm and fluffy clothes for her to put on afterwards: “Now, take your time, get dressed and when you’re finished, I’ll make us some tea, is that alright?” Miranda asked, looking at Abigail’s face intently, trying to detect the smallest hint of panic or reticence. Abigail, however, seemed… blank. Gone. Like she had poured all of her feelings into Miranda’s arms at the station and was now empty. Miranda tried not to let this worry her too much and let Abigail in the bathroom while she wandered back to her kitchen where she leaned on the counter. 

She needed to give Abigail time. Whatever happened to her, it had been serious. She was bruised, scared, shocked. She needed to come down the panic slowly, not be questioned. Miranda needed to provide that for her, despite the urge to know just how much Abigail had been hurt and what she could do to heal this hurt. 

She had made Jack call her. 

In the midst of danger, uncertainty, and panic, she had thought of her. 

Surely, it had more to do with her relationship with James than… 

But she did run into her arms, looking for protection, for a solid base to hold on to. 

Time for wine, Miranda decided, looking past the tea cabinet and to her little wine cellar. She poured herself a glass, trying to focus on the movements instead of on the thought gnawing at her. 

Miranda remembered the first time she had seen Abigail. She had been taking a break from taking care of the troublesome fig tree when Vane’s car had pulled over in the driveway. A new girl, with blonde hair had jumped out of the car while Vane pulled suitcases from the trunk. Coming back from the airport then. Another girl was helped out of the car by a French-speaking Jack… 

Miranda remembered finding her adorable, with her coat and scarf under her arm, looking all around her with a sense of wonder, intimidated by her company, like Alice discovering Wonderland. 

And then, she had stretched, and it felt like she was shedding some of her personality from the cold country she came from. Miranda had seen a sliver of the pale skin of her stomach where her shirt had ridden up, and she had heard her moan. It had felt like watching a flower starting to bloom. Not opening yet, but scanning the air before deciding to do so. 

Miranda had found it endearing, and had promised herself to be here to watch that particular bud bloom. 

Now, she was forced to admit, nursing her glass of wine, that things had gotten out of control. She did not just want to see Abigail opening up. She wanted to be the one to do it. She wanted to make sure she wouldn’t get hurt in blooming, and she wanted to be the one to gently coax her out. She wanted to see what kind of flower Abigail would be. What laid hidden from sight, tantalizing, promising, and how to get it out of its cocoon. 

She had felt like that before. Once, with such intensity. 

With James. 

She had Thomas by her side, then. She could talk to him, ask him, share with him. 

It seemed such a long time ago. She was a different person then. She had not been devoured by grief, pain, and loneliness. She had been younger. More careless. 

Now, feeling these feelings return, she could feel the passage of time. She could feel it in how heart guarded itself and how tired she felt at the end of the day. But the same feeling was here, turning and turning like a caged beast she longed to set free. 

When she was even younger, her parents had many secrets, as parents always tended to have. Doors were closed, books were set high on the shelves, out of reach, objects were sitting behind glass cases… She would open it all. The mysteries were often disappointing once revealed. Doors only hid her father, cheating on her mother with a much younger girl, books only had one or two scandalous scenes, objects were plain and banal once taken out of their pompous glass cases. The mystery was what made boring objects interesting, under the thin veneer of scandal. Miranda didn’t have time to mask uninteresting things. She had had lovers. So what? Everyone had them, everyone enjoyed them. So what good did it do to hide it? It created fear and guilt and pain. 

So she had turned to the other mysteries. The ones hiding in plain sight. Those were the real mysteries. The flowers growing in the garden without anyone knowing how they came here. The furtive glances her father’s lover sent to her mother, full of longing and admiration. What wicked things the books she was allowed to read hid between the lines. The plain white teapot who always made tea taste bitter, no matter the tea, no matter how it was prepared. 

James had been one of those mysteries hidden in plain sight. People thought he was easy to read so they missed him. They… misread him, as Abigail had said. They thought his eyes were brown and never bothered coming close enough to see how wrong they were. 

Abigail was very much the same. No one looked at her twice without coming to the same conclusion twice. A pretty girl, shy, well-behaved, quiet. She was all these things, no doubt, but there was a fierceness which people missed. A sharp eye and a sharper mind, which cut in a caress. A soft voice saying fierce words. Just like James, Abigail was a mystery hidden in plain sight. A purloined letter. 

Abigail had revealed herself to be so much more than what Miranda had bargained for. She felt it, right here, in her chest, that longing calling for her, for the shy touch of her pale eyes and the braver touch of her fingertips. Miranda drank more of the wine, trying to chase away the image of Abigail under her shower, lathering her soap on her pale skin, closing her eyes under the stream, her naked body half-hidden by her hair and by the volutes of steaming hot water. 

Trying to chase away the image of herself, joining Abigail in the shower, pushing her hair out of her neck where she would kiss her, letting her hands wander all over her arms, and then lower… 

Miranda finished her glass and immediately poured herself another. She needed to calm down. Abigail was in shock. She didn’t need a lustful older woman jumping on her. She needed a harbour. Peace. She took a deep breath. She could do it. 

She heard the bathroom door open and immediately started to boil water for the tea. She browsed her selection before choosing a soothing herbal tea, the one that had a reddish-pink hue which, somehow, reminded Miranda of the young woman. She prepared two cups before walking back to the bedroom where she found Abigail, wearing the clothes Miranda had laid out for her, drying her hair with her towel in lazy movements, while looking through the window. 

“You can’t see the sea from here.” Miranda said quietly, not to startle her. “But if you open it, you can hear the waves.”

“Can we… Can we open it?” Abigail asked in the small voice that made her sound so young and so vulnerable. 

“Of course. I don’t want you to catch a cold, though, so, not for long.” Miranda answered, setting the two steaming cups on the nightstand, next to Keats’ Selected Poems, before reaching out to open the windows, letting the chill of the evening air inside. The sky was pregnant with clouds and the colours of the sunset were watered down by grayness. It was going to be a black night, Miranda noticed, with very few visible stars. The wind was picking up, stronger than it had been yesterday, or even this morning. 

From beyond the row of pine trees bending in the wind, you could hear the gentle roaring of the waves. Miranda instinctively closed her eyes, matching her breathing pattern to the comings and goings of the waves. 

“I can hear them…” Abigail exclaimed in a whisper, as if she were afraid of drowning the waves in her voice. There was an accent of wonder in it, which made Miranda smile. She gently took the towel from Abigail’s hands and started drying her hair for her, being careful not to pull her hair. 

When Abigail leaned in the touch, Miranda felt robbed of air for a moment. She felt like a bird had elected her finger for a perch and she was at a loss about what to do not to scare it away. She continued to dry her hair away, listening to Abigail’s calm breathing slowly coming to match the waves as well. 

There was a peacefulness in the moment that made Miranda want to test the resilient stretch of time in order to make it last as long as its fabric would allow it. But it couldn’t. The air was growing colder and tea was waiting. She decided to test it anyhow. Slowly, she dropped the towel on the bed and let her hands come to Abigail’s arms. Miranda’s dark blue fluffy sweater contrasted so nicely with Abigail’s pale skin, but was so heavy that it prevented Miranda from feeling her skin. Abigail’s breath hitched a little but she remained otherwise still and silent. 

“James is going to take John up inland, to the cabins this week-end. It is a very nice retreat… Abigail… Would you like me to take you there as well? I can free my Monday and we could drive there Friday evening, if you want…?” Miranda murmured right against Abigail’s ear, feeling her shiver as her breath tickled her ear. 

That close, Miranda could smell her own shampoo in Abigail’s hair and it made her head spin. She was so close. She only had to move a quarter of an inch and she would be kissing the shell of her ear. She was still warm from the shower and Miranda longed to curl right to that warmth. She could see Abigail’s chest move quicker and had to physically restrain herself from reaching out to touch, to drag her against her body, and…

“Miranda…” Abigail murmured back. Miranda immediately looked up. The young woman’s voice was full of tears and her eyes were shiny and red-brimmed. “I… I can’t… This… All of this… This is not me.” Abigail looked back through the window to the black night. “I’m not that person that… that is mixed in all of this. I’m just a student in vacation, I never meant to take part in all of this. It was all thrusted upon me, I didn’t… choose… any of this. I can’t… I can’t make those decisions: I’m leaving soon, and…It’s too much… It’s too much for me…” 

Miranda could feel the panic rise in the urgency of Abigail’s words and in the hectic pattern of her breathing. She gently turned the young girl around so that they were face to face before stroking her arms gently: “Abigail, breathe deeply. That’s it. Take a deep breath. There. Now, I need you to be as clear with me as possible, is that alright? What can’t you do?” 

Abigail blushed and looked down for a minute, fiddling with her fingers, before wincing. There were bruises forming there. 

“I do not mean to be presumptuous,” Abigail finally said after another deep breath. “But I believe that you offered me to go to the cabins, so that… So that we… develop a… sexual side to our… relationship… Is that… right?” 

“I would enjoy that,” Miranda answered frankly, “but I would never do anything that you wouldn’t want to. If you do not feel the same, I would never touch you, you do know that, don’t you?” 

“It’s not…” Abigail looked at her feet again. “I would… I would enjoy that as well, but… It’s ridiculous, but for me, it’s… It has become so much more. This… What I feel… It runs so much deeper than what I intended for it to be. And I can’t… I can’t get more involved in Nassau. I’m leaving here soon and I don’t want to feel torn apart when I do. I feel like I’ve already paid the price of being part of what is going on here.” 

There was a silence, in which Miranda looked away. She went to the window under the pretense of closing it and blinked back tears while doing so. In a matter of seconds, she had felt wild hope, and then had been dropped down into… 

Heartbreak. 

There was no other word for it. 

She was feeling so much more for Abigail than a simple sexual attraction too, and had been giddy at her confession, but the consequences of it… 

She had been so very close and yet she felt that they had never been so apart. Miranda could feel with a startling clarity the physical ache in her chest. 

Here she was. Alone again. Always alone since Thomas.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> So, here's chapter 8, finally! Most of the moving-out situation is resolved now, but there's still things to do so I can't write as much as I want to, sadly. I am however working on the next chapter as we speak so I shouldn't make you wait too long. I hope. 
> 
> I just wanted to leave a small note to thank you all for reading this fic and for commenting. Your support is always so appreciated, especially in moments of doubt! (everyone has those I believe) Recently the wonderful [andrea_deer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/andrea_deer/works) who regularly leaves lovely reviews made an aesthetics post about this fic! I'm so flattered! You can find it [here](http://lordnochybaty.tumblr.com/post/153569131119/lordnochybaty-she-compared-me-to-dorian-gray). Thank you so much for all your support!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter, who starts a little bitter but ends up much sweeter!

_“What have I done? What have I done?_

_And why do I hurt so much when I know I made the right decision?”_

 

James closed the car door behind him and walked through the cemetery gates for the first time since the funeral. He could feel coldness slipping into him and a sense of unbearable gloom abate on his shoulders. He was wearing his uniform, which felt so out of place that he couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

He walked through the alleys, lighting his way with a torchlight. 

He had received Miranda’s text in the middle of his shift, deep in the night, and had dropped everything, saying he had urgent business before leaving the station in a hurry. 

Miranda had told him she was sitting by Thomas’ grave and that she needed him to come find her. 

James was walking briskly, feeling his throat tight from panic. He knew the way to Thomas’ grave by heart, having walked down the alley, carrying his coffin many times in his nightmares. 

His torchlight finally found Miranda’s figure, sitting in the grass next to the tombstone, her arms holding her knees close, shoulders shaking. It was way too cold for the thin sweater she was wearing. James had anticipated it. He walked to her, making sure he wouldn’t blind her with his torchlight, and dropped his jacket on her shoulders. 

He sat next to her, setting the light in the grass, illuminating Thomas’ name on the tombstone. 

He could feel it hurt anew, that piece of his heart that had been wrenched out of him. It never actually stopped hurting, but it sometimes felt like he could bear it. As he sat here, in that black night, next to Miranda quietly sobbing, he realized that he would never actually return to a state where he wasn’t hurting. Like the waves he could faintly hear, it would just come and go. 

He held one of Miranda’s hands in his, feeling how cold it was and tried to stroke some warmth back in her shaking body. He wanted to say something reassuring but found himself speechless and waited until Miranda was ready to speak. 

She almost knocked her head in his jaw when she looked up. He could see, in the distant light of his torchlight that she was shrouding her sadness in anger. Then, she started talking: 

“It’s so unfair, James. So unfair. How… How come you got to get away and I’m still here? We both lost him, and we both shared the hurt, this unbelievable hurt. We were both in this bottomless cave, and… And you were so hurt and you behaved like an asshole all the time. You were fighting the pain like it was an exterior part of you. You were mean to everyone. You were mean to me before you accepted my help. And I hurt too, and you added to this hurt, but I helped you. And you got out. You have a life now, you have John, you.. you can find a way to soothe the hurt when it gets too much. And when you’re here, it’s… When you’re here, it’s the deepest form of hurt you can feel.”

Miranda wiped her tears in an angry movement, before letting her hand fall in a defeated gesture that worried James more than anything she had said. 

“When you’re here, it’s the deepest form of hurt you can feel, but when I’m here, it’s a… a comfort. Because there is nothing else. Because the rest is even blacker. Because the rest is so fucking worse.” 

Miranda looked away for a moment. James wanted to go and hold her tight, wanted to hold her until she abandoned all the hurt she was holding on so tightly, believing the rest so much worse, but she wasn’t finished talking and she needed to let it all out. 

“I’m tired of being strong, I’m tired of going on. I’m tired of believing there is hope for me yet. Hope feels so… far away. I’m starting to feel it’s just a mirage in the middle of a desert.” Miranda sighed again, clearly finished this time. 

James stepped in. He arranged the jacket around Miranda. She was freezing cold. How long has she been standing here? 

“Did something happen with Abigail?” He asked softly. 

“Well…” Miranda winced a little. “I asked her if she wanted me to take her to the cabins with you and John. And she said… She said she couldn’t get too involved in anything here, in Nassau, because she was just here on vacation, and last time she got involved in the business here, well… Well, she is actually badly bruised.” 

“Miranda, she’s a girl. She’s a girl on vacation. And worse, she’s friends with Vane. I mean, you can do so much better. So what, this girl didn't take the opportunity of her life, we can always go back to the museum, maybe that guy you saw last time will be there? What about that?” 

“But, James… She said she liked me. She asked if I wanted to have sex with her at the cabins and I said yes but I wouldn’t touch her if she didn’t want it. She said she wanted it and she said she wanted… more… And that was why she couldn’t… She didn’t want to get into something too serious. But we almost had it. It almost happened. But… It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? It is always going to be ‘almost’…”

“Miranda, I know you’re in a deep dark place right now, and you can’t see the end of it, but I can. I can see the end of the tunnel for you. This is just some bad luck that will pass. I know I’ve been an asshole when I was mourning, but you helped me, and now it’s my turn to help you, alright? So, let’s start by not letting you freeze to death in the cemetery.” James said, standing up and dragging Miranda with him like she weighted nothing to him.“How did you even get in there? I thought only the guardian and the police station had the keys.”

“I climbed over the fence next to the beach.” Miranda mumbled like a scolded child. 

“You people need to stop climbing over the fences. They’re here for a reason.” James tried to say seriously, but ended up chuckling to himself, picturing Miranda climbing over the fence like a teenager. 

Before leaving, Miranda kissed the tombstone and James left his fingers linger on the letters in a caress.

He let Miranda sit in the passenger seat of the police car and closed the gates behind them. On the drive, he asked: “So, are you still coming to the cabins? You might meet someone there. John would be happy to spend some time with you. Me too, but that goes without saying. We could have a drink, catch up more seriously…”

Miranda smiled and James probably never felt so relieved: “I might come. Not long. I was thinking about taking the Monday, but… I might just drive there Friday after work and drive back Sunday evening. That should leave you some alone time with your boyfriend.” Miranda teased. 

There she was. He could still feel her sadness cling to her, but she was making an effort. That was a start. He could work with that. 

When James pulled over in Miranda’s driveway, he watched the new car in Vane’s driveway suspiciously but decided against talking about it. He simply asked: “Where is she now?”

“Sleeping in the bed. She was exhausted. If she isn’t better tomorrow, I might take her to the hospital. She was limping a little…”

Miranda stopped talking suddenly and James followed her eyes. 

In the front yard, Abigail was talking to a man nearly towering over her, pressing a gun in her hands. She was holding Miranda’s sweater close like it could protect her and her hair was all mussed with sleep. James recognized Vane. 

Next thing he knew, Miranda was out of the car. James swore under his breath but he knew he couldn’t follow her. If he crossed the line between Miranda’s property and Vane’s… He would officially start the war. He could only get out of the car and try to call Miranda back who, of course, was having none of it. 

She walked to Abigail and faced Vane whose first reflex was taking a step back. He didn’t but James could see the aborted movement from here. He smiled. 

“What is going on here?” Miranda asked Vane. 

“None of your business.” He answered. 

“Miranda, it’s nothing,” Abigail interrupted. “I just have to go away for a little while, while they catch the man who did…this…”

“I’m taking her to the one man who can protect her.” Vane declared. 

Miranda stared at him for a few seconds: “Oh, so you’re taking her to the big boss. How smart to drive her in the night to the headquarters when the people who want to harm her are still roaming around.” 

Vane’s teeth were grinding so hard Abigail couldn’t help but wince. She needed to defuse the situation before it all went down. She was done with situations turning sour and Vane and Miranda were the last two people she wanted to see fight. 

“Miranda…” She called softly and was astonished at how quickly she had their attention. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me, but Vane and his… friend… can protect me from now on…”

“Oh no.” Miranda immediately protested. “That’s enough. They dragged you into enough of their shit. You don’t know what… what could happen. I’m not letting you… I’m not letting you go out if there’s a single chance at you getting hurt again, do you understand?” 

“Well he’s been here to my house,” Vane interrupted. “so she can’t stay here. The “big boss” as you call him is in a house guarded by a lot of men. No one is going to hurt her there.” 

“Guarded by a lot of men. Does it also have a big neon sign saying “The big boss lives here. Get out.”? No, she needs to disappear and she’ll only do that if she stays away, not if she gets in deeper.”

“We’re capable of defending her!” Vane barked at her. Miranda didn’t flinch. Merely blinked. Her shoulders were incredibly tense. 

“I know you’re having doubts about that.” Miranda replied softly. “You can think you can protect her but you’re not certain. There’s always a risk. You know there’s always a risk, don’t you? I’m not here to tell you you’re weak, because you’re not. But this will keep escalating until you put a definite end to it. Meanwhile, there is always a possibility for Abigail to get hurt. She has been too involved already and you know it. I can offer an out. She should go where Jack and Anne are, they can keep an eye on her for tonight. Tomorrow, I can take her inland to the cabins. This is the last place they’ll look if they know the island, and they won’t even look at it twice if they don’t. We’ll stay here until Monday, which should give you enough time to… make sure they’re all gone. And then… we’ll see.”

“Miranda…” Abigail tried to protest. The phantom pain was still beating in Miranda’s heart, accentuated by Abigail’s soft voice and the grip she had on her dark blue sweater, holding it to her to try and ward off the coldness of the evening. 

Miranda gently took Abigail’s arm and guided her a few steps away from Vane who looked at them suspiciously. She whispered to Abigail: “Listen, I… I know how you feel about it, and I know you don’t… want to go the cabins with me, but… But you know you can’t stay here until it is all over. I promise I won’t touch you.” Miranda could feel herself want to reach out to tuck some of Abigail’s hair behind her ear, but she knew she had to curb this desire. She had to be the responsible one here. “But you have to trust me. You told me you didn’t want to be too involved. I can help you with that. I can pull you out. If you let me.”

Abigail was looking at her, clearly conflicted. She was holding herself and her eyes were almost begging Miranda to come hold her instead. And, how Miranda longed. How she wanted to hold her against her, as she had done in the station. How very doable it seemed in that moment, and how very impossible at the same time. Abigail had said no, so Miranda kept her hands away and pushed the pain back for later. 

Abigail lowered her eyes, as if she knew Miranda could read her. She nodded: “Please take me away.” 

Relief flooded over Miranda. She closed her eyes for a moment: “I will. I promise I will. You’re going to sleep with Jack and Anne tonight and tomorrow afternoon, meet me here, I’ll take you to the cabins. James and John will already be here. We’re not going to let anything happen to you, I promise. No one will even suspect you’re here.”

Miranda looked back at Vane who was looking at them as if he had just been offered a jigsaw puzzle. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest and was frowning. Miranda gently pushed Abigail towards the house: “Now, go back inside, you’re freezing. Go prepare your bag.”

Vane surprisingly let her go without a word before he turned to Miranda: “You only got to speak to me like that because I’m concerned about Abigail’s safety.” He said with murderous eyes. “Anything happens to her while she’s with you, you’re responsible.” He threatened before going back inside his house, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Miranda walked back to her house where James was waiting for her, astonished: “Did you just made Vane obey?” He asked. 

“Well, you know how good I am at that.” Miranda answered with a smirk. 

James chuckled: “I actually do.” before guiding Miranda back inside. He tucked her in her bed, making sure she was warm enough, pushing some hair away from her face and setting her alarm clock just a little later than usual so she could get enough sleep. He knelt by her side, on the floor next to the bed: “I don’t know what you just got into, but you know that I’m here to come and get you, always.” He murmured. 

“I know. I know, that’s why I texted you at the cemetery. I’m sorry I’ve been so harsh. I know you’re here for me. I love you.” Miranda mumbled, already half-asleep. 

“Love you too. Sleep now.” James answered, kissing her forehead. 

***

Abigail woke up to Jack swearing, dressing hastily, obviously late for work. Anne was still in bed with her, one arm protectively draped over her shoulders. She mumbled something about always being late anyway, but Jack didn’t let her go back to sleep. He threw her some trousers while saying something about getting coffee on the way. 

Abigail hastily dressed with them. Miranda wasn’t coming to get her until tonight, and she didn’t want to spend the day in John’s cramped flat. She put on a dress and ran to the car with Jack and Anne. 

It was impressive how Jack could still sound so passionate about the history of Nassau after a four-hours night and no coffee. Hamund had tried to come talk to Anne and Abigail, but Anne had immediately told him off with a murderous: “I’m hangover and I didn’t have coffee so don’t even try.” which made him back off immediately. 

On the train, next to Anne, Abigail watched the landscape and was relieved to discover that there were things that she had overlooked the first time. The day was cloudy and there were considerably less people on the beach than there had been the last time. She tried to cheer herself up, laughing at one of Jack’s anecdotes or at the dog wearing a tiny yellow raincoat, but she could feel gloom like clouds, impregnating the skies in her head. She watched her hair floating in the wind as if it wasn’t her hair but stranger clouds. 

At one stop, in the old fort, Abigail closed her eyes, feeling the wind on her face, and focused on the wash of the waves, trying to engrave it in her memory. When she opened her eyes, Anne was taking a picture. Abigail smiled questioningly. Anne just shrugged: “Figured you might want some souvenirs. ‘M not a very good photographer, but Jack taught me some things.” 

Anne showed her the picture. Abigail couldn’t help but laugh for a moment, but immediately stopped when she saw the hurt flash on Anne’s face. 

“Oh, no, no, no, I wasn’t laughing at your picture. You’re very good, this is a beautiful picture! I didn’t know you were interested in photography at all. It’s… It’s funny because it looks like I’m posing for a Vogue magazine or something, but I’m just looking at the waves.” Abigail explained. 

“That’s the thing with photography. It captures what you can see but the others can’t.” Anne shrugged, still slightly tense. Abigail felt so bad for having laughed. Anne’s picture was beautiful indeed. Abigail was only in one corner on the picture, the rest revealed the waves lapping at the beach, but Abigail’s hair was slashing the sky in dark streaks like clouds. You could see the bruises on her hand resting on the rough stones of the fort. Abigail had never looked at herself like that. 

“What else do you like photographing?” Abigail asked. 

Anne unexpectedly showed her. “I don’t have much…” She started. “It’s… uhm… Just… Look at it…” She mumbled, as if she were… embarrassed… Abigail frowned a little and looked. 

Most of it was pictures of Jack. 

There was one of Jack cooking on John’s stove, wearing boxers. He looked entirely focused on the pan, unaware of the camera. He was bending slightly, looking a little tired, looking very serious, consumed by his own thoughts, a slight worry crease between his eyebrows. The slight muscles in his arms were accentuated by the artificial light of the kitchen. The light gave the picture of slightly yellowish hue to the picture which made it all look very… comfortable. Cozy. Like they were at home, with Jack in front of the stove. 

There was another one showing Jack kneeling in wet sand, a camera hiding his face from view as he was trying to take a picture of some washed-up seaweed. There was tension in his shoulders and his back arched under a too-big t-shirt which made his arms look thinner. 

Abigail stopped on the last picture, the first Anne seemed to have taken. It was Jack again, holding a mug Abigail recognized from Vane’s house, like he was trying to hide his face for the picture. He didn’t have time apparently and the mug didn’t hide his smile. It was a nearly bashful smile, with a tenderness which made it look so intimate Abigail felt she was intruding. She gave the camera back to Anne with a smile. 

“They’re all so beautiful. They feel… They feel like you love Jack very much.” 

“God help me, I do.” Anne mumbled, taking the camera back, finding Abigail’s picture again, and looking at it for a long minute. Abigail was expecting her to say something about what she could see in the picture, but Anne didn’t, and soon, they were back in the little train. 

*** 

Abigail made pasta for lunch and they ate while watching one of Jack’s weird movies. Anne showed him the picture she had taken of Abigail and Jack looked at it for the longest time before saying: “That’s one of your best pictures yet.” But he didn’t say what he saw in the picture. 

***

She felt something being hollowed out from her chest when Jack told her it was time to go. She looked back at John’s tiny flat like she was leaving something here. But she knew that what she left back would still be in Anne’s picture, and that soothed the pain somehow. 

She climbed in the car with her backpack while Jack was saying something about people forgetting how to drive as soon as it rained and how he hoped it wouldn’t. 

Abigail talked about the movie they just saw, asking questions about its meaning, making Jack laugh and explain how meaning was overrated anyway. 

”You know it: everything has to have meaning. Even when it’s random, it has some hidden meaning. Even a protest against meaning is a meaning. There’s no escape from meaning. The most we can do is to not look for the answer, for the meaning. The meaning is here but you don’t care about it, you don’t let it affect what you see. Meaning eats away at everything you do, or see, or think. You plan, you organize according to a certain central meaning. But if you let the meaning go for a while, if you ignore the meaning, you go deeper, right to the essence of the thing, you see?” He asked. 

Abigail looked at him for a minute before answering: “I don’t think I know right now, but I think that maybe one day, I’ll understand.”

Jack smiled at her. It looked like a special smile. 

“Oh shit.” He cursed when he turned into Vane’s street. 

“Fucking Teach’s car.” Anne added. “I thought he was staying inland. What does he fucking want now?”

Jack still parked the car in the driveway, next to a slick red car which looked very new and very expensive. Anne got out first and nodded to Jack and Abigail to get out of the car too. As soon as they had closed the doors, Vane got out of the house. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a while. 

He clapped Jack’s back and nodded to Anne, relieved to see them. Jack looked concerned for him. 

“She’s not here yet but you should all wait under her porch…” Vane started, before he was interrupted by the front door opening again. 

They all turned to see what Abigail guessed to be Teach. 

He was tall, stern, with a bushy black beard and a somewhat rumpled suit. He was wearing a holster with two guns and no jacket. He looked at them with cold eyes, like a king surveilling the subjects who disappointed him. 

Abigail wished she wasn’t wearing her white dress. It made her feel foolish somehow. 

The man joined them in slow, deliberate steps. Abigail could feel Anne tense next to her. The man stopped next to Vane, facing Abigail, staring at her with grey eyes. Abigail couldn’t believe she was thinking this, but she wished she had Flint next to her: he seemed to be the only one capable of holding such a stare. 

“So, this is Abigail.” He said, looking at Vane, clearly waiting to be introduced, as if they were at a ball in the nineteenth century. 

Charles nodded and made the introductions: “Abigail, this is Teach, Teach, this is Abigail.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Abigail automatically said, holding out her hand. Years of being introduced to her father’s colleagues finally kicking in. 

That seemed to please Teach who took her hand in a firm but not crushing handshake with the smallest of smiles: “So you are the one we have to clean up after.” He said in a deep voice. He didn’t let her hand go, looking at the bruises forming here. 

“I’m afraid I am.” Abigail answered, at a loss about what to say. 

Her soft quiet voice made Teach look up. He touched his own cheekbone with a finger: “You held the gun too close, didn’t you?” 

“I think I did. I… I had never fired a gun before.” 

“It looks like it’s going to fade a little but not totally. Do you think you killed him?” 

Abigail tensed. She stammered a little before shaking her head: “I have no idea. I don’t think I did but I didn’t think to stop and check.”

Teach chuckled. He squeezed her hand a little before letting it go. Abigail did her best not to take her hand back too quickly. He reminded her of her middle school history teacher, and how terrified she was of him. 

“Well, that would explain the amount of blood we found at the house. We’ll let you know what we did with him when we find him. Bruising up girls isn’t exactly my idea of something good business partners do.” He said very calmly, as if he wasn’t talking about killing a man. “I did promise Charles I would let him do most of the work: he came after his girlfriend after all,” There was something bitter in his voice at that.“But we may find something to do to remind him that he was wrong to cause you any distress.”

Abigail nodded, still at a loss what to say. Even Jack was completely silent next to Charles, like he was trying not to be noticed. 

The heavy tension of the moment was cut off by Miranda’s car pulling over in the street. Miranda got out of her car, slamming the door behind her. She was wearing a navy suit and a white shirt, and she had her hair down. She was incredibly beautiful, Abigail couldn’t help but think, admiring the way her legs filled her trousers and how wonderful her forearms looked, with the sleeves rolled over her elbows. She swallowed. 

Miranda looked worried as she walked over to the small group. She looked at Abigail, as if she was making sure she wasn’t hurt. Or checking her out. Abigail didn’t want to think about that. 

“Good afternoon, everyone.” Miranda greeted them. “Jack, Anne, thank you for taking care of Abigail.” 

“Always a pleasure.” Jack answered. “And the least we can do after what you do for us.” He added probably referring to their clandestine plantation. 

“So, you’re the infamous neighbour.” Teach said, a little sharply, probably vexed at being ignored in Jack’s favour. 

“I am. Miranda Barlow.” Miranda introduced herself, shaking his hand, cold, professional. 

“Edward Teach.” 

“The big boss.” Miranda filled in, looking at Vane who nodded. 

There was a silence then Miranda nodded and put a hand on Abigail’s shoulder: “Good. We must be on our way, now, if we want to arrive at a decent hour, so if you’ll excuse us… Abigail, go put your bags in my trunk please. It’s open.”

Abigail nodded and took the out she was offered, nodding at Teach. It felt more like a curtsey than a nod, but she tried not to think about it. Anne went to help her, closely followed by Jack who was more or less running away from Teach. They stood, all three of them by Miranda’s car. Then Jack engulfed her in a bear hug: “We know you’re going to be alright with Miranda, but we can never tell you to be careful enough. We don’t want you to get hurt, okay?” 

Abigail nodded silently, her throat suddenly tight. “Come back to us quickly, alright? We’ll be waiting here.” Jack said with a tap on her shoulder, letting her go. Anne kissed her forehead quickly, the awkwardness of the gesture drowned in the kindness of it. Abigail didn’t dare hug Anne but she held her hand for a moment, feeling her cold rings against the palm of her hand. 

When she let go, Vane had joined them. He looked at his feet for a moment before looking up: “I’m sorry I let you get hurt. We’ll make them pay and I’ll make sure you’re not involved in this anymore.” 

Abigail felt her eyebrows raise in surprise but she caught herself and immediately answered: “It’s okay: I asked to get involved in the deal. Nothing that happened there is your fault. I’m sure Eleanor feels the same.”

“Well, she does. She’ll be glad you’re somewhere safe. I’ll be too. Just… take care.” He mumbled before patting her shoulder a little awkwardly. 

Miranda and Teach joined them. Abigail couldn’t help but think how they looked like an espionage movie couple. There was some tension between them however. Miranda closed the trunk and opened the door for Abigail. Before she could climb in, Teach told her: “You keep astonishing me, Abigail.”

She smiled, nodded, and closed the car door behind her, Miranda closely following. She started the car and Abigail waved at her friends through the window. 

***

“You can put some music if you want.” Miranda said as they exited the city. “There’s this antiquated CD player here. I’m afraid I only have Depeche Mode, but if you like…”

“Depeche Mode is nice.” Abigail answered. truth was, she never truly listened to Depeche Mode before but she wanted to, now that she knew Miranda liked it. She switched the CD player on and soon they could hear “Strangelove”. 

It was starting to rain now and Miranda had to drive slower. Abigail looked out through the window. She could see a now-somehow-familiar landscape through the drops of rain spattering the window. It was changed, now, under the dark skies, slashed by the falling rain. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Miranda asked. “You’re only wearing your dress. You can take my jacket, if you’d like.”

Abigail wasn’t especially cold but she still wrapped herself in Miranda’s jacket. It was still slightly warm from Miranda’s skin. Abigail closed her eyes, comforted by it, remembering her dream. Lying in bed, naked under the covers, next to Miranda, lulled into sleep by the rain on the window and the warmth of her skin. She couldn’t help but yawn. 

Which in turn made Miranda yawn. They laughed softly together. They were still awkward, Abigail could feel it, but for all that divided them, they could still feel connected, somehow. The events of last night couldn’t erase that sunny moment they had shared with tea and a conversation about books. Abigail wondered if Miranda remembered her promise of sending her the pictures of the rose bush, once it had flowered. She hoped she did. 

Her attachement to Nassau, Abigail now realized, had not only been about smuggling pearls and working for Charles. It had been meeting Jack and Anne and going with them on the train. It had been drinking beers with them in the evenings. It had been laughing with John, Idelle, and Max, learning about their lives. It had been almost accidentally befriending John, and having him confide his doubts in her. It had been her longing for the sea and all the moments she could hear the waves engraved in her memory. It had even started when Eleanor had invited her into her life with her stories and her pictures of Charles. 

It hadn’t been all that bad. 

She might hurt when she would leave them behind, but she wouldn’t regret getting to know them. They had brought so much unexpected joy in her life that she felt she could endure any pain thrown at her with those happy moments. 

She looked at Miranda driving, focusing on the road, cursing the car in front of her under her breath. She looked so incredibly beautiful, Abigail thought again. She had the intuition that she was going to think about how beautiful Miranda was every time she looked at her. 

Miranda had been a good part of Nassau as well. She had welcomed her with open arms. Had been interested in her. Had shared some of the loveliest conversations she ever had with her. Abigail even felt grateful for having the occasion of looking at her face right now. She hid a smile behind Miranda’s jacket, pretending to move into a more comfortable position. 

She had shut Miranda out last night. 

They had their epiphany last night, their moment of revelation, their pivotal moment. Miranda had confessed wanting to have sex with her, and Abigail had wanted to. But she could still feel the small burn on her cheekbone and the pain in her knees. And it made her stop and refuse. It had been too much. She had been exhausted and in shock. She had been reeling from everything and she had made her decision based on hurt, panic, and fear. 

Abigail realized in a flash of lucidity that she had made a bad decision. That shutting Miranda out had been a mistake. It wasn’t what she wanted and, honestly, the best would have been not falling in love with Miranda in the first place, not falling hopelessly in love and refuse the realization of it once it was clear they both wanted more. 

She would have shut anyone out in this moment. She would have told Charles off yesterday evening. But it had happened to Miranda because she had been the one to help her, take her in, and proposed to her. When Abigail had said no, Miranda had been nothing but respectful of her choice, even if Abigail could tell it had hurt her. She had never wanted to hurt Miranda. Never.

What Abigail had thought was prudence turned out to be cowardice. And if she had been a coward at the house with Ned Lowe, who knows what would have happened to Eleanor. Cowardice was not the road you wanted to go down, Abigail had learned.

Abigail always made a point of facing herself, her own choices, her own decisions. She analyzed what she did and she didn’t lie to herself. And she now recognized that refusing Miranda’s proposition was a bad decision made with poor judgement. 

She stared through the window. They had left the city now. She could see fields, small fields compared to the ones in England, bordered by heavy vegetation. Some trees whose roots were fighting with bushes, trunks embraced by heavy vines, leaves shaking with rain. She just had a revelation and she didn’t know what to do with that. 

Should she just tell Miranda? “Hey, I changed my mind, just thought you should know!”

Would Miranda take her back? 

She was a gorgeous woman: her suitors probably lined up in wait for a single date. She got interested in Abigail, and she obviously cared for her safety, but had she decided to move on and only see her as a friend, after her rejection? What if she wanted nothing to do with her now? What if she had missed her chance with her clumsiness? 

Abigail closed her eyes, trying to calm the panic she could feel starting to build inside her chest. Now was not the time to panic, now was not the time to panic… 

Quite absurdly, she could now feel the panic she had felt back at the house build on the panic of having missed her chance with Miranda. As if panic was calling panic, even though they had nothing in common. 

Abigail took a deep breath, doing her best to slow the beating of her heart. She needed to calm down, to get a grip. Nothing was going to happen to her here. She was fine. She was fine. She was safe. Even if Miranda rejected her, she was going to be just fine. 

“Are you alright Abigail?” Miranda asked, concern lacing her voice. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” Abigail answered out of habit. 

“Are you car sick?”

Abigail shook her head no, eyes still closed. 

The next thing she knew, the car was slowing down, turning somewhere Abigail could see, and finally stopping. She couldn’t get her heart to beat slower. She could feel it thump in her chest almost painfully. She pressed a hand against her chest, as if she could press her heart into slowing. 

“Abigail, please open your eyes.” Miranda asked, and a small remote part of Abigail’s brain registered the concern there. She opened her eyes, searching for Miranda’s. “Good. Good.” Miranda murmured, nodding. She unbuckled both their seatbelt and got out of the car before holding Abigail’s door open. 

Soon they were both standing under the rain in a small by road, night falling fast. 

Abigail could feel herself shaking. Miranda put one hand on her shoulder, the other under her ribcage: “Now, take a deep breath, inhale, don’t stop until I’ve counted to five.” 

Abigail obeyed, focusing on the coldness of the rain and Miranda’s voice, doing her best to follow her instructions. “…Five. Good, now hold for two seconds. One… Two… Good. Now exhale for five seconds… One…” 

The instructions, although simple, were more difficult to follow than Abigail had thought. She had to direct her entire focus on it. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. They did it five times before Miranda dropped the hand she had held under her ribcage. They were completely drenched and Abigail felt a little dizzy. 

She found herself being calmer. She wasn’t shaking anymore and her heart was beating slower. She took some deep breaths to feel it. 

Miranda’s white shirt was completely drenched, sticking to her skin, and she was apparently wearing a very nice white lace bra. Abigail caught herself staring and immediately wrenched her eyes away. 

It was a very nice bra, that being said. Much better than her basic nude underwear which… Abigail checked… Yes, underwear which you could now see through her equally drenched white dress. 

She couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation. It started as a giggle, and then built up and up right until Abigail was wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. She could feel nervousness slip right off her through the peals of her laughter. Miranda was laughing next to her, her back against the closed car door. Her laugh was something else. Abigail wasn’t sure how she would describe it. It was calm and slightly deeper than her speaking voice. It was very nice. Abigail calmed down and looked at Miranda. They looked at each other in silence and it felt so incredibly intimate. 

“I think you just had a panic attack.” Miranda informed her. “What triggered it?” 

“I never had a panic attack before. I… How do you know how to deal with it?”

“James… Flint… Used to have them, when… Well he used to have them so I learned how to deal with it. If it’s something I’ve done or said, please tell me, I don’t want to trigger y-…”

Miranda didn’t finish her sentence because Abigail was kissing her. 

A remote part of Abigail’s brain was admonishing her for being the most cliché person on this entire earth. The rest was a bubbling mess of emotions. She thought she should have at least let Miranda finish her sentence and it was rude to interrupt. She thought she should have said something. Maybe ask for permission first. Really, this kiss was all very rude. 

That being said, it also felt so good.

Who knew that a simple, desperate press of lips on lips would feel so good? Many people, probably, but Abigail had not been one of them until now. She could feel it in her chest, like an electric signal, making it thump madly again. The nerves _do_ send information to the brain in the form of electrical impulses. 

Now her hands were on Miranda’s shoulders, her lips on hers, and she stood so close to her she could feel her body heat, tampered by the rain and her wet clothes. 

Next thing she knew she was being gently pushed away. 

Abigail was glad was the daylight falling because she was sure she was blushing pretty hard and there was no way she could hide the hurt she was feeling if it were not for the gathering darkness. She felt like she had no right to be hurt by this rejection, but she just couldn’t help it. 

“Abigail. I… What is this? I thought you said you couldn’t…” Miranda asked and there was something… vulnerable in her voice, almost hurt, that Abigail hated immediately. 

“I know… I know. I’m sorry… about last night, not about the kiss. Although I should have asked first for that, I’m sorry. I… I was thinking…” Abigail could see the thoughts organizing in her head and she knew the words, but those were very difficult words. She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyelids, taking a deep breath before daring. “Last night, I was in shock, I was hurt, and I was lost. I thought I was clear-headed when I told you… But I wasn’t. I made a mistake last night and I want to make it right.” 

“Are you saying you want…”

“I want whatever you can give me. I don’t have much time on Nassau and I didn’t want to start something with you because I thought it would hurt me to leave if we had… a relationship… But it is clear to me now that it is going to hurt anyway. Because what I feel for you is…” Abigail pushed a hand against her chest, not daring to meet Miranda’s eyes yet. “…It’s already very deep. I don’t have much to offer you, just a week and I… I’m not… much… But if you still want me… I want you.”

“Abigail… You just had a panic attack: are you really in a position to make a clear-headed decision now? I don’t… I can’t have you saying no, then saying yes, to only tell me no again when you come to your senses. Are you sure?”

Abigail finally looked up. Miranda’s hair was wet and mussed and her lips were red and she looked beautiful. 

“You’re probably going to laugh but I had been thinking about how I wanted you and how you might not want to take me back before… it happened. I was panicking, and I guess it all… built up. I know it’s ridiculous to have a panic attack over, but… I’m sure. I had taken the decision before I had the panic attack. I won’t change my mind about it. I want you, Miranda. I want you.”

Miranda closed her eyes for a moment. After a beat, there was a smile playing on her lips, and she opened her eyes again. She nodded. “Alright. Alright, come here.” 

The invitation made something incredibly warm bloom in Abigail’s chest, like those teas which open in warm water, and before she knew, she was pressing her body against Miranda’s, ignoring the cold unpleasant feeling of their wet clothes, her arms around Miranda’s waist, as she had done at the station. 

Miranda’s hands framed her face, pressing her wet hair on her skin, but all of this hardly seemed to matter because Miranda was kissing her. 

Oh, what a child’s game Abigail’s kiss must have felt to Miranda when she could do _this_. 

Miranda pressed their lips together, mouths closed at first. It was a firm press, like a reassurance. Then, Miranda pulled back, chuckling when Abigail tried to follow her, despite her heaving breaths. She barely waited a beat before attacking Abigail’s upper lip, kissing it gently, sucking on it a little, and then letting it go. Abigail had to close her eyes at that. Then Miranda worked on her lower lip, licking it again, sucking on it, longer, biting it a little, making Abigail pant and gasp again her. Miranda broke the kiss, letting them take a couple of heaving breaths. Abigail could feel all the places where they were almost touching, just brushing against each other when inhaling, nearly at the same time. She craved more of Miranda’s touch. “I want you.” She whispered, her lips touching Miranda’s as she spoke. 

Miranda took her in again, guiding Abigail’s lips to hers with her hands still framing her face. Abigail sighed in the kiss, closing her eyes again. Then Miranda’s mouth opened against hers and she was compelled to do the same through a language so foreign she was surprised at her own understanding of it. 

She could feel that the kiss was heavily laden with sexual tension, yet, somehow, it seemed more remote, like a colour in the background, while the foreground was entirely occupied with… She could barely dare to describe what it was. 

It felt like Miranda was asking her to give her desire, tenderness, passion, kindness, love… Miranda’s tongue in her mouth was looking desperately for an answer to the question of their bodies pressed against each other. Abigail did her best to meet Miranda’s tongue with hers, to return the kiss, imitating Miranda’s movements, answering “yes, yes, yes” as best as she could. 

Abigail was the one to break the kiss, turning away urgently to sneeze, making Miranda tense at first, then laugh. She stroked Abigail’s back when she turned back, trying to return to their embrace: “You must be freezing in those clothes. Do you have a towel? You should dry yourself before you catch a cold. I’d hate not to be able to kiss you because you’re sick.” Abigail had a fleeting image of the torture it would be to have Miranda close and not be able to kiss her. The horror must have showed on her face, because Miranda smiled before kissing the tip of her nose gently. 

Miranda opened the trunk and they did their best to look into their bags for towels and dry clothes without letting the rain get everything wet. Abigail dried her face first, then did the best she could for her hair, standing under the open roof of the trunk. There was nothing to be done for her dress: it was completely drenched, and she could feel it grow unpleasantly cold on her skin. 

She looked back to Miranda who was removing her drenched white shirt, revealing the wonderful white lace bra Abigail had caught a glimpse of. Abigail felt somewhat ashamed at her lustful appreciation of Miranda’s breasts, but she had to say they looked so perfect she wanted to touch them quite badly. 

She felt herself blush and look down. She heard Miranda chuckle, proof that she had been caught staring. Miranda’s good humour about this (and her smugness) emboldened Abigail who immediately pushed one sleeve of her dress down. She struggled a little to get the two sleeves down and off her arms, the wet fabric clutching at her skin, but she finally succeeded and looked up at Miranda as she dropped the top of her dress, standing in front of her in her bra, trying not to hunch her shoulders. Miranda stopped and stared and Abigail tried not to fidget before soldiering on and pushing the dress down her legs, gathering it in her hands before standing straight again, looking right at Miranda. 

The effect was spoiled when Abigail sneezed again. Miranda laughed out loud and Abigail could feel herself blush. She was making quite a fool of herself…

“I never actually heard someone sneeze like a little mouse like you do.” Miranda chuckled, shaking her head. “Go dress yourself before I do something that would keep us in the cold too long.” 

Now Abigail was blushing hard. She could see Miranda’s eyes follow the blush down her neck to her chest. She nodded and put her dress in the trunk, drying herself hastily before putting on her only sweater and some shorts. When they walked back to the car, Miranda was checking her phone, swearing under her breath. She sat behind the wheel, putting the phone to her ear:

“John, yes, what happened? … What? … Where are the keys? …They’re… Oh god, John… Have you tried the reception? … Oh, I see. Have you called…? No? …Oh yes, that makes sense for James… Well, I’ll be there is a little over an hour… No, I can’t drive faster with this rain and it’s getting dark. Please try to calm him down without telling him to calm down, and tell him that I’m being careful on the road and I’ll be there soon. Yes… Yes, I’ll see you soon.”

She hung up, putting the phone down and immediately started laughing. Abigail looked at her questioningly. Miranda shook her head, calming down enough to start the car. She explained as she joined the road again: “John handcuffed James to the bed with toy handcuffs and he didn’t think he needed to bring the keys since they were toy handcuffs. And now John can’t leave James alone in the room nor can he call someone from reception since James is in a… uncomfortable position. So we’ll have to ask the reception for paper clips because James doesn’t want to dislocate his thumbs ever again.”

Miranda sighed, eyes on the road as she drove on, headlights on: “Never a moment’s rest with the two of them.”

Abigail smiled, wondering how she would ever look at Flint… James… in the eyes again after knowing about this particular… event… 

They drove on, listening to “The World In My Eyes”.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> So here's the chapter, it's a little late, sorry. I wanted to post it on Friday but I'll be out camping so I won't be able to have internet (I don't think so?) 
> 
> You may have noticed the rating change, so this is it, guys, the smut no one asked for! This chapter is basically all smut. I have to tell you that this is my first ever femslash smut, so it may not be very good. I hope you'll forgive any faux pas you may find. 
> 
> Once again, thank you all for reading this fic, I hope this will meet your expectations, and it would mean the world to me if you could leave a comment if you enjoyed reading it! 
> 
> Have fun! =)

_“I’m writing, sitting on the floor next to the bay window, looking out on the deserted lawn as the sun shines shyly out from the grey clouds._

_This room, the room I share with Miranda, feels like a private theater. The décor is terrible, but the atmosphere feels like the velvet of heavy blood-red curtains you see framing a stage. The light is strange, pale and grey, and comforting._

_I don’t know how to phrase this. Loving someone can be so visual, sometimes. But lovers always wrote letters, so I guess there must be a way to phrase this. In the most simple terms, probably._

_I love Miranda._

_This feels so deep, like something else was added to me and it is beginning to blend in so perfectly with me, that I barely feel its presence. Miranda just is. My love for her just is. There was no dramatic revelation, no world shaking on its foundations. Just acceptance of what has been growing inside._

_Although having sex with Miranda felt incredibly good (and it still somehow feel it, in my body…) I feel like I realized that I loved her almost independently of it. Like I could have realized that I loved while we were driving, or while she was making the bed. I thought that having sex with someone inherently brought the realization that you are in love. I was wrong, Miranda showed me this. Or is this just me?_

_I knew I was in love with her and she knelt on the bed and caressed my cheek with her knuckles. No one has ever been so tender with me. I have never felt so loved. And I knew (I’m not flattering myself, I just knew) that she was in love with me when she called me her “sweet little rose”. I’m smiling to myself, just remembering it._

_I love being in love with Miranda. It makes my heart burst with the excitement that comes with unexpected freedom. Love is not a bound. It is an open sky. I never want to stop watching it, its sun, its clouds, its rains…_

_But I am being fanciful. I should try to put some order in the room. I’m afraid we made quite a mess last night.”_

 

Abigail was glad they had arrived when they finally pulled over in the parking lot: she was exhausted and a little cold and she wanted to be in a bed, hopefully cuddled next to Miranda. Darkness had fully settled on the island, shrouding the dense vegetation, warding off the punctures of yellow light provided by the little reception building. 

“The Haven” was the most cliché name for the cluster of cabins but Abigail couldn’t help but smile at the accuracy. After all, she was here because Ned Lowe might be chasing after her, hungry for revenge. She bit her lower lip, trying to get these thoughts away from her. 

She was also here because she wanted to be with Miranda. And Miranda wanted to be with her. 

She had to repeat that in her head as she turned towards the woman in the driver’s seat. 

Miranda wanted to be with her. 

How do people get so lucky? 

Miranda turned the engine off and smiled at her: “Here we are. Are you tired, my sweet?”

Abigail couldn’t help but smile at the term of endearment. She didn’t know why but she liked it when Miranda called her with little nicknames that would have felt ridiculous coming from anyone else. She tried to mask it, she felt like she was being too… expressive… but she couldn’t help but feeling the bubbling happiness getting to her as she heard it. 

“Just a little.” She confessed. “But I’ll be fine as soon as I have stretched my legs.”

Miranda smiled right back at her with something Abigail couldn’t define yet. 

Abigail followed Miranda to the little reception building where a young man was typing away on his computer, looking bored. He looked up and smiled at them politely. 

“It appears that we’re a little late,” Miranda apologized with a smile. “But I have reserved the bungalow number 9 under the name Mrs Barlow.”

Abigail looked at Miranda as she pulled out the printed out receipt of her reservation from her handbag. She thought about the name “Barlow” and the mysterious “H” which adorned her initials. They had kissed, yes, and Abigail felt like she now… shared something with Miranda… However strange that sounded, but she knew she was very far from knowing who Miranda was at all. 

Was Miranda her real name even? 

Abigail felt dismayed at the thought. She couldn’t imagine the woman next to her with any other name, even if, well… a rose under any other name… She would just feel… strange… if Miranda wasn’t her real name. It probably started with an ‘M’. She could hold on to that letter. 

Abigail forced herself to look up and focus on what was happening as the receptionist handed Miranda the keys of her… their… bungalow… He turned to look at her as Miranda put her receipt neatly away in her handbag while holding a paper clip between her index and her middle finger. Abigail smiled politely, trying not to imagine what kind of questions the man was asking about them. Did he even question it? Did he _know_? Had Miranda brought other people here before? Was she just this time’s partner, to be replaced with someone else in two weeks? 

Did it really matter? The fact that Miranda was going to have a dozen, a thousand of partners after her didn’t really matter. It wouldn’t erase the absolute intimacy of what would happen between them now. Or what Abigail imagined would be absolute intimacy. She realized she didn’t truly know what to expect. Would she feel swept away with feelings of love and connection like a romance heroin? Would she be consumed by lust, unable to think clearly like the… other kind of romance heroin? 

She thought of details of what was hypothetically to come and wondered how she would feel when they came to that… How would she feel when Miranda put her hand between…

“Abigail?” Miranda called and the young woman blinked, only now realizing that she had lost her focus again. Apparently, she had drifted off while looking in the vague direction of the receptionist who was looking back at her. She smiled politely and followed Miranda back outside. 

The evening air was not as cold as she would have expected. The tropical air was humid from the rain and the coldness of the day had not dropped after the sun had set. Abigail had to shake off her thoughts by pushing her wet hair away from her face in a messy bun which must have looked miserable. She tried not to fidget or try to arrange it. She probably wasn’t supposed to look nervous. 

“Take your bags in the trunk, please, we’ll just swing by the boys’ bungalow before we get to ours. It’s not going to be long, I promise.” Miranda said. Abigail wondered if she was tired too. She wanted to ask but she felt… suddenly shy. She had never been in this situation and she didn’t know what Miranda expected of her. So she quietly nodded and did as she was told. 

Miranda went to the bungalow number 6 which, through the most bizarre organisation Abigail had ever seen after the London administration, was next to the bungalow number 9. Miranda knocked on the door. 

“Yes, who is it?” Abigail recognized John’s voice. 

“John, it’s Miranda. Let me in please.”

The door opened on a very distressed-looking John Silver, frowning, with his hair all tousled, sweating a little, and wearing… well… those were no doubt Max’s black latex pants. He had Flint’s uniform’s shirt on, opened on his waxed chest. He sighed in relief at the sight of Miranda: 

“Thank god you’re here.”

“Let me in, I asked reception for a paperclip, I’ll open these handcuffs.”

“Thank you so much, you’re a life saver Miranda…” John started babbling. Miranda chuckled. 

“Just stand outside for a minute, I’ll need some privacy with James for a little while.”

“Of course, yes, of course…” 

John stood outside, letting Miranda in. She closed the door behind her, leaving Abigail outside with John. After a minute, the silence felt very heavy and John didn’t show any sign of looking away from the closed door. 

“Are you alright?” Abigail asked.

John visibly jumped, looking around him, bewildered for a second. He blinked twice before nodding a little frantically, swallowing. He was a mess of nerves: “Yes, yes, I’m fine, I’m okay…”

Abigail smiled a little. She knew what people who lied about being okay sounded like: “How are you really?” She asked in her softest voice. 

John looked at her for a minute, as if he were checking she was really here and wasn’t any apparition. He put his hands in his hair. Abigail had never seen him so worried. She waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts: “I’m afraid that’s it. That I made a mistake and he’s going to realize that I’m not… I’m not… much. I forgot the keys, I’m so stupid, how does that happen? How can I be so stupid? There’s no excuse for it, and it’s… He’s not going to want to stay with me because I forgot the keys… God, it’s going to be over…”

John started pacing, looking out in the night, hands clutching at Flint’s shirt, holding it close to himself. 

“John,” Abigail called. “Did he say anything about things being over between the two of you?” 

“No, he didn’t. He didn’t…. But I know… I just _know_ you have to believe me, he went all cold, like before we were dating, and he only spoke in monosyllabes and just wouldn’t answer, and…”

“John… John, please, listen…” Abigail took his hands before he could start tearing out his wonderful hair. Somehow, she felt she owed that to Flint. “He’s probably as stressed out as you. He’s in a very, uhm… uncomfortable position… Probably. Not that I know… Well… He must be really stressed out. You need to give him time and space. Don’t torture yourself: everyone makes mistakes. I’m sure you could think of one mistake he made that you forgave him for making.”

“He did. Make a mistake. He made a very hurtful reference to my job once when we were fighting.” Abigail was surprised by the confession but she saw that John was in no state to think clearly. 

“And you forgave him.” She said. 

“It took some time. But I did. I just… I just wanted to make this week-end… interesting. We rarely have the time and the energy to do things, I wanted to make it all nice and I… I messed up…”

“John, we _all_ mess up sometimes. He messed up before, you messed up this time… It’s not… a permanent mess up. I’m sure he knows you didn’t mean to forget the keys. And if he doesn’t, Miranda will remind him…” 

That made John stop in his track. He frowned before looking back at Abigail with a hint of his former curious smile on his lips: “You’’re here with Miranda… Does that mean that it’s… consummated?”

Abigail couldn’t help but chuckle nervously: “No, we… It’s not… Well… nothing happened. Well, no, that’s not true… We kissed, if that counts…”

“The smallest smile counts.” John said in a surprisingly affirmative tone. “But I thought… I mean, you know how Miranda talks to James, and… Well I don’t mean to pry, but I thought you told her no…” 

Abigail felt suddenly embarrassed. She looked away, fidgeting with her fingers a little, biting her lip: “We talked about messing up.” She chuckled nervously. “When Miranda took me home… Well, to her home… That would have been the perfect… opportunity…to, uhm… But I… I was… not feeling right, and I told her I didn’t want to… get in too deep… Which was… stupid… And I… reconsidered on the way here.”

“Wow… Well… I’ve been here… These two… I don’t know what they have, but they do pull you in deep…” John answered to the night surrounding them. Once again Abigail was stuck by the absurd closeness between them. How different the two of them were and how connected she felt they were. 

She looked back at Silver and found him looking at her with a smile: “You know,” he started, “I don’t know Miranda, and I dont think anyone truly knows Miranda except for James, but you might just…”

They were interrupted by Miranda opening the door again. Her hair was ruffled and wet and she looked a little tired. She looked at both of them for a second, frowning, before turning to John: 

“He’s in the bathroom. He’s not truly angry at you, just embarrassed and he’s covering up with anger. Give him some space for now and some cuddles when he shows up again and everything should be fine. Don’t ever bring bondage in the conversation for quite a while.” Miranda declared before putting a hand on her hip and shaking her head with an indulgent smile: “Truly, John, of all people, I thought you would be the most prudent when it comes to initiating new things in the bedroom. Still… It’s all going to be fine. Go back inside before you catch your death. We’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”

“Thank you so much Miranda. I promise I’ll be more careful.” John answered, nodding like a chastened schoolboy. A strange look on Silver in his latex pants, but one Abigail guessed Miranda knew how to draw from anyone. “See you girls tomorrow, then.” John concluded with a wink for Abigail. 

When the door closed on them again, Abigail and Miranda looked at each other. 

There was something incredibly soft in Miranda’s eyes. No more mystery, no more mischief, just something tender which made her look almost approachable. Abigail wanted to take a step towards her, come as close as she could be, and kiss her gently on the lips. 

“Let’s go finally put our bags in our bungalow.” Miranda directed with another smile. 

***

The bungalow was quite spacious but the decoration was a little garish. The colour palette hesitated between a warm orange and a bright blue. The towels and the bed covers were all printed with something that looked like a sea turtle pattern. The pictures on the wall were all black and white clichés of sea shells which did not even come close to Jack and Anne’s photographs. 

Abigail raised an eyebrow at them before setting her bags in a corner of the bedroom while Miranda was busy switching on all the lights. 

Abigail stopped in her inspection when her eyes fell on the bed. 

Or rather, the beds. 

Two single beds were lying there, separated by a small nightstand, staring at her, almost accusingly she would say, were she prone to anthropomorphism. 

It felt like a slap in the face. She looked at Miranda who had just come in the bedroom. Miranda looked at her and then at the beds. She had a self-depreciating smile, which felt very strange. 

“I didn’t know where we stood when I made the reservation.” Miranda explained, gesturing at the two beds. 

Abigail took three steps towards Miranda, probably faster than she had intended, and kissed her. 

She had a fraction of a second fright when she thought she would miss her mouth with her own, but she soon felt Miranda’s lips against hers and she suddenly remembered the way Miranda had kissed her in the rain, against her car. She wanted that again. 

Unsure about her skill, she set out to copy Miranda’s kiss. 

First, closed eyes. 

Then a small kiss on her upper lip. 

Arms around Miranda’s neck for balance. 

Then a kiss on her lower lip. 

That one felt addictive. Abigail kissed it again and was surprised by how much she needed to taste Miranda’s lower lip. It was like a deep ache settled in her stomach. Abigail had to confess that she always thought that he movements, kissing, having sex, were a choreography of moves that the people involved repeated in order to achieve the desired result, and she had been very nervous about not knowing these moves. 

Now she experienced for the first time how her own inexperienced and profound desire for Miranda led her to move in order to chase the sensations she had a glimpse of earlier. 

It was dizzying, to be honest. 

She loved it, because Miranda’s hands were in her hair, holding her, making sure she wouldn’t fall alone. 

Abigail was licking Miranda’s bottom lip, taking it between her own lips, touching it with her tongue, barely daring to add any hint of teeth, and then sucking it softly. Miranda’s hands in her hair tightened, drawing her in and Abigail wanted it, oh, how she wanted it. 

She let go of Miranda’s lower lip to try and get her breath back, but she still _needed_. She looked into Miranda’s eyes and wondered how Miranda was perceiving her now. 

Abigail didn’t truly want to answer that question, so she went in for another kiss. She had intended to go back to kissing Miranda’s perfect lower lip, but Miranda apparently had other ideas. Abigail was always in for Miranda’s ideas. 

Miranda gently nuzzled Abigail’s nose to make her look up and stand at just the right height so that Miranda could kiss her lower lip. She spent less time working on it than Abigail had done, before asking for entrance. 

Still dizzy from Miranda sucking on her lower lip, Abigail opened her mouth to her tongue. It felt… bright, like a lightning bolt which lights up a stormy sky and creates a deep want out of nothing. She wasn’t even sure about what she wanted, so she held on tight and let it happen to her. Miranda’s tongue touched hers, caressed it and Abigail leaned into it with her entire body. 

Miranda’s hands left her hair, wet and slightly cold, before holding on her waist, dragging her closer. 

Abigail vainly hoped that the small moan didn’t come from her own throat. Her arms suddenly felt useless around Miranda’s neck. Was she permitted to touch her? Painfully conscious of how ridiculous it was she felt her hands tremble a little as she dragged them back from Miranda’s neck to her shoulders. She kept her touches light while thoroughly enjoying how strong Miranda’s grip on her waist is. Miranda’s skin was still slightly wet but it was warming up and Abigail instinctually follows the veins right to where the skin is the warmest. 

Miranda’s tongue was exploring her mouth, lying her bare, turning her inside out. Abigail felt the need to give it all to her. To get rid of everything and just put it in Miranda’s capable hands. When Miranda’s tongue touches her palate, making her head bend backwards slightly, Abigail cannot help but moan again. The sensation is just buried too deeply in her and she cannot control it. She didn’t even want to control it. She wanted Miranda to control it. 

Miranda broke the kiss and the loss made Abigail whimper and berate herself mentally for it. She felt her lips overly wet with saliva and it felt obscene. She licked at it, feeling her cheeks heat up in shame at her state. Then, she saw Miranda’s eyes trained on her lips and felt her hands hold her waist even tighter. The pressure made her sigh. The loss of control it demonstrated felt like strong wine, making her focus waver. 

Miranda abruptly looked away and Abigail felt that loss more keenly than the loss of her lips on hers: “Are you sure you want this, Abigail?” She asked. Her voice was tight, as if it pained her to stall, to hold off. “We don’t have to go all the way… We can go slow… Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” 

Abigail nodded and slowly removed her hands from Miranda’s shoulders, letting her fingertips caress the skin as they went. It took Miranda several seconds to remove her hands from Abigail’s waist. Her hands seemed to be foreign to her for a few seconds longer before she put them in her pockets. 

Abigail looked down and had trouble swallowing. After a deep breath, she removed her sweater. 

Miranda chuckled as she observed Abigail fold her sweater carefully before looking around for a place to put it. Abigail’s shoulders were rounded and she was slightly bent inwards, as if she was trying to ward off the cold. It was, however, not the least cold in the bedroom, and Miranda could see from a mile off Abigail’s insecurity about her body and how it should look like. 

Well, that was a shame. 

As Abigail put her folded sweater over the back of a chair, she was surprised by two slightly cold hands on her. One fell on her hip, where her skin met the top of her trousers, two fingers hooking up in one of the loops, the other right under her breast. Abigail gasped and tensed for a second, before Miranda’s hands warmed up a little on her skin and she felt herself relax again. 

Miranda’s mouth went to Abigail’s ear where she bit slightly on her lobe, tickling Abigail, making her laugh a little, right before she went to lick that spot behind her ear that no one ever touched. Abigail closed her eyes, leaning into Miranda, silently demanding more of it but Miranda only bit her gently before pulling her mouth back. Abigail whimpered, feeling slightly helpless in a cloud of arousal. 

The way Miranda touched, it made her feel… complete. Everything in her was connected each other and, ultimately, to Miranda. 

Miranda’s hand went to the strap of her bra in a satin-soft caress. She stroked the skin here playfully, teasing her before she hooked a finger and pulled the strap off, letting it fall on her shoulder. Miranda kissed the top of her shoulder in the smallest press of lips, but it made Abigail bite her lips. She repeated the movement with Abigail’s other bra strap before pulling her hands away to the back of it. 

Abigail felt Miranda unhook her bra like a treasure finally opened to itself. She felt so dangerously close to the edge of something she was now only beginning to appreciate. She removed her bra and put it a little more hastily on the back of the chair, over her sweater. 

“As much as I appreciate the absence of bra on you, I really must buy you nicer underwear.” Miranda commented. Abigail couldn’t help but shiver when she felt her breath on her ear. 

Miranda’s mostly dry hair rubbed on her temple when she bent her head, probably to look at her. Miranda let out a displeased sound when she rubbed her hand on one of the marks the bra left on her skin. She then brought her two hands on Abigail’s breasts in a caress, her thumbs barely passing over her nipples. Abigail closed her eyes. Everything was scarier with her eyes closed. She has no control over what happened. She had no clue about what would happen next. 

Actually everything was heightened with her eyes closed and when Miranda cupped her breasts, Abigail gasped quite loudly, arching her back into it. She was starting to feel a little desperate. Her skin was too tight for her and she wanted to climb out of it. She threw her head back on Miranda’s shoulder, biting her lower lip, panting already as Miranda started massaging her. 

“Do you know how beautiful you look now, Abigail?” Miranda asked, whispering low in her ear. 

Abigail opened her eyes slowly, blinking at Miranda, not knowing what she should answer. If she should answer at all. She was painfully aware of how she must look, with her cheeks beet-red, her lips bitten, eyes blinking, hesitant, and chest heaving. She was breathing as though she was running a marathon and yet, she was just here, giving herself over to Miranda’s expert hands. 

She had no idea it could feel like that. 

Miranda moaned at the back of her throat and let go of her breasts. Abigail tried to protest, but she was soon turned around to face Miranda again and she could barely take a breath before she was kissed again. 

This kiss was more daring, wetter, with more tongue. Abigail finally felt like she was falling, like she was trying to hold on a rope that was spinning between her palms before dragging her with it. She was unable to hold anything and she just… let herself go. 

Miranda’s hands were now holding her face, holding it in place as she kissed… well… the living hell out of her… in so many words. Abigail tried to keep up, tried giving as much as she got but she always felt three steps behind when Miranda was licking her teeth or caressing her tongue with hers. Miranda was also spinning out of control, she could feel it in the way she held her a little too tight, in the way her chest heaved against hers. It felt… incredible. How could she even make someone like Miranda loose control? 

It was heady. She needed more of it. 

Abigail moved before she could talk herself out of it. She let her hands fall from where they covered Miranda’s to Miranda’s hips. She held her for a little while, feeling her hands warm up against Miranda’s burning skin. One of Miranda’s hands was tugging at the hairband that held her bun together. It hurt a little, but she finally felt her hair fall on her shoulders and finally felt Miranda’s hands combing it back, caressing her scalp. 

Abigail chose that time to slowly push her hands under Miranda’s shirt, touching her skin, caressing it, chasing the warmth. Miranda pushed her body against hers, holding her by her grip on her hair and it suddenly felt too much, too good. 

Abigail broke the kiss and had to take a few breaths before she could murmur an audible: “Please.” 

Miranda had to close her eyes at that and took a deep calming breath. It was going too fast. She feel herself loose control already, her judgment clouded by the sheer want she felt to push Abigail on the bed, slide those tantalizing shorts down her legs, and make her do all those little whimpers that were driving her crazy already. 

Miranda took another breath before opening her eyes and asked: “What do you want? I can give you what you need. Just ask me.” 

Abigail laughed nervously, lowering her head a little, feeling shyness swell in her. She shouldn’t have talked: she had no idea what she needed. Did she need Miranda to kiss her again and put her hands back on her breasts? Or did she need Miranda to push her on the bed and remove what was left of her clothes? She only knew that she needed more, that her heart was beating too fast and she had the strange certainty that it might stop completely, should Miranda stop touching her. She could feel it, thrumming inside, the nearly unfamiliar frenzy of need. 

Not knowing what to answer, Abigail just withdrew her hands from Miranda’s skin and, before her self-consciousness could get the better of her, started unbuttoning Miranda’s shirt. Miranda chuckled against her forehead, especially when Abigail’s fingers tripped over themselves as she tried unbuttoning faster than she could coordinate her own movements. 

By some miracle, Abigail soon found herself opening Miranda’s shirt, feeling incredibly bold as she did so. Miranda’s breasts could truly count as one of the wonders of the world. 

Not wanting to stare, Abigail lifted her eyes and found herself staring right back in Miranda’s incredible eyes. 

There was something unbearably soft and tender in them. Or was it in the way Miranda’s hands were holding her head, gently, with a side of desperation that Abigail answered in the grip she had on Miranda’s shirt. They suddenly seemed to share something that neither of them had expected. The utter surprise on the revelation that this was not going to be just about sex and physical attraction. Abigail was not just undressing a breath-taking woman : she was also undressing the woman who quoted Oscar Wilde to her and watched her having tea in her garden. 

When Miranda kissed her forehead first, and then her upper lip in the most gentle way, Abigail found herself overwhelmed by the revelation that she loved and was loved in return. That they were not just going to have sex. They were going to make love. It felt slightly terrifying for a moment, and then she looked into Miranda’s eyes again, felt Miranda’s fingers caress her cheekbone with the back of her fingers, and it was all alright again. 

She still felt her heart beating madly in her chest and her movements were still nervous, but Abigail now felt like she was… floating. That something was bubbling in her chest, rising to her lips, making her smile until her cheeks hurt. Abigail pushed Miranda’s shirt from her shoulders and let her fingers run over the lace of Miranda’s bra, taking it in with curious eyes. A part of her felt like she was trying to catch a glimpse a the flesh through the stony veil of a marble goddess. Remembering how it felt when Miranda cupped her breasts, she copied the movement, letting her fingertips run over the line where lace met flesh. 

Miranda gasped and Abigail couldn’t help but look up in wonder. She did this. Miranda was gasping because of her, because she liked what Abigail did to her. This gasp felt like a gift, somehow, and it made her dizzy with excitement and happiness. 

Miranda’s hands left her hair, making Abigail frown in displeasure, before feeling those two hands clutch at her ass, making her jump in surprise. Miranda chuckled in her ear before kissing it, letting her warm breath wash over it. Abigail could feel goosebumps rise over her arms. 

“You drive me crazy, Abigail. Just seeing you walking around with those wide eyes drives me crazy. You’re just asking to be devoured, my darling.” Miranda murmured against her skin, biting her neck playfully, making her shiver. 

Miranda used her grip on Abigail’s ass to drag her against her body, plastering them together. Abigail had to let go of Miranda’s breasts but she didn’t let it deter her, and she went to unhook her bra, removing it before tossing it on the bed as carefully as she could. 

Then Miranda slid a thigh between her legs and all thought of coherence evaporated. Miranda’s thigh pressed upwards, making her shorts rub against her and Abigail moaned _loudly_ before she could even think of biting the sound back. Her head fell on Miranda’s shoulder, her back aching to get more friction. She hadn’t even realized she was that wet already.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, my darling. Just let me.” Miranda whispered again, and Abigail felt like there was a question in there. She nodded a little frantically, panting slightly. 

The next thing she knew, Abigail was being turned around and gently pushed on the bed. She tried to scramble up the bed, to leave some room for Miranda to climb in after her, but she missed, one hand pressing on the air instead of the bed cover. Losing her balance, Abigail fell on the bed on her back, her head missing the corner of the bedside table by an inch. They both froze a second but when they realized that everything was alright, they started laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Abigail would have felt stupid if Miranda’s laugh wasn’t so good-natured. She could feel the nervousness about her nudity abate, leaving her stifling her own laugh with the palm of her hand. 

Miranda was looking at her, lying over her with her elbows by Abigail’s hips, caging her in. There was a remnant of laughter here, in her eyes, but there was also that tenderness from before. The glance was so intense, Abigail could feel its softness on her skin. It made her shiver, goosebumps breaking out on her arms, and made her nipples harden. Abigail was lying here, offering herself to that gaze, relinquishing control, self-consciousness, herself. And it felt so good, the pure certainty that Miranda could carry it all, could take care of her, and that she was willing to do so. 

Abigail closed her eyes and stretched on the bed, feeling that certainty sizzling through her, making her feel good. Miranda immediately went to her neck, kissing it, licking it, which felt strange and tickled her, but felt too good to push away, and finally, biting it, forming a mark there. Abigail gasped with the pain, feeling her back arch into it. 

When Miranda’s hands found the buttons of her shorts, there were impatient but efficient and before Abigail knew what was happening, she was lifting her hips from the bed to help Miranda undress her. Some tension rose anew, making her legs slightly stiff.

Then Miranda’s mouth moved from her neck, leaving wet, messy kisses in her wake, as she moved down. Abigail turned a little, hands scrambling to pull down the sheet but she was stopped when Miranda lifted her head, right above her breasts: 

“What are you doing, my darling?”

“Getting under the sheet… Is this not how…?” Abigail answered.

“There is no ‘how it is supposed to be’ here. Would you prefer to get under the sheet?”

“I… I think it would be better…” Abigail said, pushing her hair over her shoulders with a nervous gesture. 

Miranda clicked her tongue and shook her head: “I can switch off some of the lights if you want but I’d like to see you. If it gets too uncomfortable, tell me, but I’d like to try.” 

Abigail tensed a little but still nodded. The smile Miranda gave her was worth all the dread she felt at showing her not-model-like figure to Miranda’s perfection. 

Miranda went to switch off the main lights, just leaving the small yellow one on the nightstand. It looked so beautiful on Miranda’s skin as she removed the last of her clothes. It made it look incredibly soft and very touchable. When Miranda removed the last of her clothes and climbed on the bed, Abigail couldn’t help but think she was looking at a goddess. 

Abigail tilted her head up to receive Miranda’s lips on her. She melted into the slow, wet kiss. She could feel her skin tightening and her hips trying to find Miranda’s. She needed more contact and Miranda hovering before her just wouldn’t do. Miranda, however, only drew back and left her wanting. Abigail closed her eyes and groaned. She could feel herself become more daring with her mounting frustration. 

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, my darling, but I never dared imagine this moment…” Miranda gently caressed her face with the back of her hand in the most tender gesture Abigail could have imagined. She had to close her eyes at that. “…Because I was afraid expectations would tarnish it. Now, I’m glad… I’m glad I can appreciate it just as it is.” She whispered before pushing Abigail back gently until she was fully lying on her back. Abigail offered herself, trying to calm her beating heart while Miranda ran her hands up her calves. That was it, the moment she had always pictured as the most mysterious, the most unfathomable one… She had never been satisfied with her own musings on the subjects. And now…

Now Miranda was hooking her hands under her knees and spreading her legs. Abigail bit her lips and tried not tense nor resist. Miranda looked up with a smile and bent her head gently before pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, right above the knee, where the vein was visible. Abigail moaned and had to close her eyes for a moment. She felt it, like a wave of pure warmth swell in her, and she knew, with uncanny certainty, that she was loved. 

She made herself relax while Miranda was peppering her thighs with kisses that had started butterfly-light and were now ravenous as Miranda’s lips went up, and up, and up. 

Abigail could feel her breath on her and it made her want to arch her back and beg, and go wild. Miranda whispered against her: “Are you comfortable like this, my darling?” Abigail rearranged the position of her pelvis and her shoulders. Miranda slipped her arms under her knees so she could bring them over her shoulders while she laid there. Abigail then nodded and Miranda kissed her belly button before sliding down a little. 

Then Miranda kissed her there and Abigail moaned so loud she might have worried about the neighbours, had Miranda not been between her legs at the moment. Satisfied with her reaction, Miranda set to work. 

It felt so much like a kiss that Abigail started relaxing a little before Miranda went up a little and licked her clit with her flattened tongue. Abigail barely had time to press her hand in her mouth to stifle another moan. And Miranda just didn’t stop there but continued her assault, now with the tip of her tongue, now with the flat of it and crowned her efforts by sucking on it. 

That particular trick made Abigail tighten her thighs around Miranda’s ears, her back aching and her chest heaving with panting breaths. She whimpered around the fingers she was biting. She was so utterly lost to arousal she couldn’t even remember the part when she got lost. She could just feel Miranda’s tongue on her, her breath, the way her hair rubbed on her skin, her hands tightening on her thighs. 

Miranda slipped her tongue inside and this time, and Abigail nearly shouted. She had lost control over her own voice and was now only trying to breathe while everything was crumbling. 

Oh, she had never thought it could feel that good. 

Her skin was as warm as it had been when she had sat under the apple tree with Miranda, and everything felt as blurry as when she had been drunk with John at the party, and she felt as floating and exhilarated as in the pool. The combination was so wonderful she didn’t want to let it go. 

She could feel it, being gently but surely pushed towards the crest of the wave. She was sweating under Miranda’s hands and her legs were trying to find purchase on the bed so she could ride Miranda’s tongue. Miranda, however, wouldn’t let her. She reaffirmed her grip on her thighs and pressed her against the bed, throwing a glance at her that said: “Stay” in such a clear and definitive way that Abigail had no other choice than obeying. 

And that felt so good. Being guided. Having sure hands and eyes on her. gathering she control she was letting slip through her fingers. 

She was close now. She could feel it. Miranda’s tongue was now sliding wetly out of her to go back to her clit. Abigail’s hand clutched at the sheet while she was biting most violently at her fingers. Oh god, she felt like she was right at the edge of a precipice she was most afraid and most eager to fall into. She could feel it, right there…

And then Miranda withdrew entirely, letting Abigail’s legs fall at her sides while she was pushing herself on her elbows. 

“Oh, god, oh god, Miranda, please,” Abigail begged, looking down at her lover. “Please, I’m almost there, please.”

Miranda smiled indulgently at her but didn’t go back to her work. She slid up next to Abigail until she was pressed against her side. She slid one arm under Abigail’s neck, bringing her closer. Abigail trying not to fidget and squirm but her breath was short and her heart was beating too strongly in her chest and she needed Miranda between her legs it almost hurt. 

“Miranda… Please. I’ll be good, I promise.” She murmured again, now that they were so close. 

Abigail could even see how Miranda’s lips and chin glistened. It was fascinating, truly. She bit her own lips and tasted something tangy like blood. 

“Oh, Abigail, how beautiful you look like that. Are you all needy, my darling?” Miranda asked in a raspy voice. 

“Yes, I am. Please… Could you…”

Miranda smiled at her again before kissing her. That kiss was downright dirty and Abigail melted into it, feeling her hips undulating with the need for friction. She whimpered in Miranda’s mouth as her tongue slipped in her mouth. A corner of her brain was screaming at her to stop being so shameless and get a grip, but it felt muffled, as if in a cloud of intense arousal. She just couldn’t help herself. 

“Oh, but how I wanted to see this.” Miranda whispered against her lips. Her other hand fell on her hip, rearranging Abigail right where she wanted her. Abigail couldn’t get enough of that as well. “I daydreamed about this when I had tea, when I drove to work, when I was filling dossiers, when I was having lunch with my colleagues, when I had a glass of wine in the evenings…”

Abigail had to struggle to keep up with her words but she let them infuse warmth all over her while Miranda’s hand slipped between her thighs again, and _pressed_ , making her keen. 

“I didn’t want to imagine how you would look the first time you would be in bed with me, but I couldn’t help but imagine how you would look as I brought you off. How sweet you would look, a blushing and moaning creature, just letting herself be guided through it.” 

Miranda’s hand against her imitated the movement of her tongue, slippery with the work already done. As soon as she started moving against her again, Abigail clutched at Miranda’s arm. Not to command her, of course not, but to hold on on something as she felt herself unravelling all over again. The intimacy of it hit her all of a sudden, and she looked up at Miranda, for something her drifting feelings could hold on to as well. 

“Shh, my darling, my sweet little rose, I’ll take care of you. I will. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I want to see you. I want to remember you, like this. That’s it. You’re nearly there.”

Abigail’s own breaths sounded too loud to her own ears, but she felt like she would choke if she tried to hold back.

“I hadn’t meant to go that far in my office, the other day. I had only meant to touch your knee, but I couldn’t get enough of you. You looked like a treat, so willing to be taken. I’m almost glad we were interrupted, because I would have touched you like that, right there and then. Would you have let me, darling?”

Abigail was at loss for words. She was even trying to remember how to breathe while she felt herself hurling towards the edge again. She looked down to where Miranda’s hand disappeared between her legs in the dim light, and had a very vivd picture of the two of them in this exact position on Miranda’s couch in her office. She nodded. Miranda moaned against her throat. 

That’s when she realized just how Miranda was affected by this. 

Sweat was beading on her forehead and on her neck, in the most appealing way. Her arm was shining with it. Her breast looked wonderful, raising and falling with the staccato rhythm of her breath, nipples erect. Abigail longed to kiss her neck, press herself against Miranda’s body more fully and return to Miranda what she herself had been given. 

She wondered wether Miranda would taste as bitter as what she had tasted of herself on Miranda’s tongue. 

The thought brought her there. 

It felt so familiar, somehow. Like being hit in the chest with a swing. It was like being pushed to shore by a wave. She felt her toes clench, her knees lift up, her back arch almost painfully, and then, it hit her and she came with a most ungraceful and most loud shout. It then spread up again, seizing her whole, engulfing her, like waves coming over and over. 

She saw something indescribable in Miranda’s eyes. Like softness. Tenderness. Something so incredibly deep she could barely believe its existence. It felt astonishing and addictive and precious. It made her feel so much it almost hurt. She closed her eyes under the intensity of her orgasm, trying to focus on the pleasure Miranda had just created out of her. 

Coming down from it felt almost as good as going there had felt. The sole of her feet tingled with it, as blood came back to it. Her muscles relaxed and her chest was beating loudly but the rhythm was slowly coming back to normal. She swallowed, licking her too dry lips while she regained her breath. Her skin was sticky with sweat and she didn’t even want to thing about what coated her thighs. 

She looked up at Miranda, trying to come back to reality and feeling at a loss. 

And of course, Miranda was there, against her, with her eyes on her, holding her through it. 

Oh god, what just happened? 

Was it supposed to happen like that? 

What would happen now? What would…

The flicker of panic was quickly stifled when Miranda bent to kiss her forehead: “Hush, my darling. Take a deep breath. You’re here. You’re with me now. Hush, I’ll take care of you. You know I will. Just… do something for me, alright?”

Oh, right. Miranda hadn’t even come yet and Abigail was already crumbling apart in the aftermath. Abigail pressed herself against Miranda, trying to make her lie on her back so she could reciprocate. She had no idea about how to do this but she could figure it out. Or even better: Miranda could guide her through it, hold her head, and tell her how to please her. 

Miranda just pressed her fingers against Abigail’s lips instead. Those were the fingers that had been in her, against her, that had made her come. Already slightly familiar with her own taste, Abigail took them in her mouth, poking her tongue shyly at them. Encouraged by Miranda’s groan, she proceeded to take them deeper, caress them with her tongue, feeling every whorl, tasting every inch of her skin. 

She tried taking too much of them once, and choked on them. She sputtered and blushed very deeply while Miranda tried to withdraw her hand, apologizing even though it was hardly her fault. But Abigail had just held on to her wrist and went on, sliding her tongue between all of her fingers, tasting all of herself, and then, when that was gone, all of Miranda. 

Miranda finally pushed Abigail gently away: “I want to show you something, darling. Let me.” 

Abigail let go and admired with a pang of pride the pink shade on Miranda’s cheeks. Miranda straightened and went to her knees. She then slid a leg over Abigail before positioning herself over her, with a knee on each side of her lover. 

That gave her a wonderful, wonderful view of her. Beyond the dark curls of her, Miranda was glistening with how wet she was. 

She did that. Abigail did, in a way, arouse Miranda like that. Miranda enjoyed touching her. It felt… incredible. Like floating in space, with no other point of tether than Miranda’s thighs she was now clutching. 

And now Miranda was over her, with her hair flowing past her shoulders, over her breasts, like a mermaid, like the goddess of the ocean, inspiring both love and awe. Abigail couldn’t tear her eyes off her if she had wanted to. Miranda did hook a finger under her chin to make her look down there again: “Now, I want you to pay very close attention. I’m going to show you how I like to touch myself so, next time, you know how. Is that okay?” 

Abigail could have melted from how tender Miranda’s voice was, and yet, there was something else in it, something very firm and directive. Abigail could barely believe how that made her feel invited in, welcome, even accepted. She immediately felt compelled to obey. She nodded and watched Miranda open herself with rapture. 

So Miranda showed her. How she enjoyed teasing herself just a little at first, touching herself lightly, almost like she was exploring herself all over again. When her breath became shorter and her hips started rolling with the movements of her hand, Miranda sped up her movements a little and became bolder. She started circling her clit, stroking it a little more, becoming wetter by the second. 

The noise of it sounded obscene and sight even more so, but Abigail founded herself swallowing and licking her lips, and wanting to taste, just like Miranda tasted her. She tightened her grip on Miranda’s thighs to keep herself from reaching up and doing just that. She wanted to be good for Miranda, and Miranda had told her to be still and watch her. 

“Abigail… Oh. _Oh._ ” Miranda moaned as she sped up again. “Watching you made me feel so good. You were so good for me. So sweet and so pretty. I bet watching me makes you want, doesn’t it? But this will be yours next time, I promise. Just be patient for me.”

“I will.” Abigail answered in a whisper. “I’ll be patient for you. I want to please you. Please show me how.”

Miranda moaned loudly at that. She tensed a little and bit her lip. Her hand scrambled for the headboard for support. She started stroking herself in shorter and quicker movements, making the veins in her hand pop out. Abigail was fascinated by them. She could feel herself respond with her entire body, waiting for Miranda to reach her peak as if she would reach hers again by watching it. 

Abigail doubted she had seen something as beautiful as Miranda’s hips undulating, riding her hand’s disordered rhythm, her thighs trembling, and her head throwing itself back as she let herself be swept away by her orgasm. 

The way she chanted her name might come close. 

After a quiet moment in which only their shared breaths could be heard, the stillness of which Abigail felt strange, like the paintings of lovers dancing, Miranda let go of the headboard and slid down the bed again. It was a single bed, and they had to be pressed one against the other, but Abigail couldn’t be bothered by that. Miranda’s skin against hers felt addictive. She felt so calm now, in this room, barely lit, deep in the night, with her senses being filled with Miranda, her perfume, her skin, her breaths… It felt as calm as the apple tree and the bottom of the pool. 

“We do have to bring the second bed here,” Miranda groaned in Abigail’s hair. “I don’t want you to fall down or run out of blanket.” 

“It’s alright,” Abigail whispered. “I don’t mind.” 

Miranda chuckled: “You do sound tired, my darling. But I want you comfortable.” She said as she rose and walked to the bedside table which separated the two beds. Abigail sat up on the bed and swung her legs down in order to get up and help her. However, as soon as she stood up, she felt her legs shake like that of a new-born fawn. Not that she ever remembered seeing a new-born fawn. Except Bambi, perhaps. 

Miranda smiled at her before shaking her head: “Back in the bed, dear, you’re in no state to stand yet.” There was something very self-satisfied in her her tone. 

Abigail obeyed. Miranda pushed the two beds together and they re-arranged the covers so it would make one bed. Working with Miranda like that, still entirely naked, exchanging some sleep-heavy words, felt incredibly domestic and utterly perfect. 

Abigail couldn’t tear her eyes from Miranda. She felt like she was seeing the essence of her, with her hair mussed and getting in her face, her eyes focused on her task, her hands gentle but firm, arranging the covers as she saw fit. She felt like, despite all the mystery still surrounding, she was finally seeing her. 

And when Miranda laid back on the bed, pushing her hair out of her face, she stretched one arm out, inviting her in. And Abigail knew, she just knew, that she had never felt that happy in her life.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> I just wanted to add a few things before you start reading: this chapter was actually supposed to be much longer, but it was starting to go over the 10k words and I felt like it was too long and I wasn't even halfway done with it so I cut it in two. This is why it might feel like the ending is a little abrupt, I'm quite sorry about it.
> 
> The second part should take too long, but I'm being quite slow these days, lack of motivation and all, but don't worry, this will have an end, even if it has a late one. 
> 
> There is no smut in this chapter but there are a lot of mentions of it. (the chapter will have some!) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading it!

_“It feels like the entire story changed._

_This is no longer about having a fun break, meeting new people, forget about your life or your self. I suspect the story had changed since I felt curious about the mystery of Miranda’s past that John alluded to, since I told Miranda I was her Basil Hallward, since I felt I was in love with her._

_I’m living a most curious love story now. One that is condensed in two weeks, like the French Classicists condense a tragedy in a single day._

_I don’t know if it happened so quickly because I’m so inexperienced, or if it’s supposed to happen so quickly, or if we’re living in an exception._

_The depth and the certainty of my feelings feel so alien and familiar at the same time. I sometimes stop and just think: ‘I am living this’ like an astronaut might think: ‘I am in space and this blue spot is the Earth.’_

_How will I land?”_

 

How strange, Miranda thought, to wake up in someone’s arms again. Part of her had conveniently forgotten the feeling when she had realized how difficult finding another partner after Thomas would be. Part of her, the part of her she visited as you press curiously on a bruise remembered the completeness of the peace she would find upon waking late in the mornings to find herself between James and Thomas. Or sometimes besides James and Thomas as they had given up on sleep and were kissing or reading. 

She was surprised, however, when she realized how different it felt with Abigail. Abigail’s breath in her neck felt fingers playing an allegro moderato on her heartstrings. Miranda looked down on her lover who was holding her very much like you would hold a plushie, or a pillow, close during the night. Her hair was all mussed up, spreading everywhere, tickling her, covering half of her face. 

Her heart was swelling as if she was following the crescendo of a quartet. It felt like a private revelation. She felt as if Abigail had just given her something secret and unexpected that no one could ever know about. Something unsharable except between the two of them. 

It felt so simple, and yet, she was asking herself if she ever had anything similar. 

Abigail’s legs had imprisoned her thigh under the covers and Miranda longed to see it, the gracious lines of Abigail’s legs, the pale little freckles she barely had any time to see last night, and the curve of her ass, worthy of the painting of a nymph. 

However, Miranda could feel herself sweating with the closeness of their bodies, and slightly sticky with last night. Her arm had fallen asleep with the weight of Abigail’s head, but the sight of Abigail’s head cradled against her felt slightly miraculous. Miranda made herself stay still while her head was swimming in a sort of calm ecstasy. It wasn’t the heady feeling of doing something dangerous and succeeding, it was the calm and surprising meeting of her own self. Here she was again. 

It had been so long Miranda had started giving up hope. 

It made her heart beat so much faster with emotions she wasn’t sure she was ready for. Those were the best emotions. 

She bent her head slightly and pressed her lips against the crown of Abigail’s head. Abigail groaned a little, mumbled and finally rubbed her eyes with her hands. Miranda felt her stretch against her, her breasts rubbing against her skin. It felt like a calling, somehow. Miranda herself moaned and moved a hand until the back of her fingers caressed Abigail’s upper arm. 

Abigail looked up and smiled. 

Miranda couldn’t help the most absurd reflection that this felt like the best smile that had been addressed to her. She brought Abigail close to her again, forgetting how her arm was asleep, and kissed her good morning. 

Abigail didn’t let the kiss deepen however and slowly broke it, murmuring something about going to the loo. 

The phrase was so British that Miranda couldn’t help but laugh a little and let her lover go, watching her run to the bathroom, entirely naked, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. It looked so much like a scene from a painting from Boucher that Miranda didn’t even question the interruption of the modern surroundings in it. 

Blood flooded back into her arm as she sat up and made it tingle. Miranda wandered in the bungalow, wondering if there was anything that could be called breakfast, even though she knew there wasn’t. When she looked back to the bedroom, she saw Abigail gathering her underwear and her shorts that had been left right where they had been dropped last night. 

“James and John probably have some breakfast ready…” She told Abigail. “I’m going to disturb them a little to see what they have. You can use the shower while I’m…”

Miranda’s voice drifted off just as she caught Abigail’s eyes drift away from her face. Oh yes, that’s true, she was naked. She smiled and pushed her hair away from her face, turning towards Abigail to allow her to have a better view. The young woman immediately blushed and looked down at her feet. She blushed all the way to the tip of her shoulders, Miranda noticed. She had never seen something that adorable. 

“I’m sorry,” Abigail immediately apologized, trying to cover herself as much as she could with the clothes she had in her hands. “I… I should have… I shouldn’t have stared…” 

Miranda frowns to herself when she finally recognizes the feeling: the giddy warmth that comes with knowing that your lover genuinely finds you beautiful. She cannot believe she had forgotten that. Thomas always made sure she knew it. And she herself made sure that she always knew it. But it felt different, somehow, looking at Abigail, with her beautiful eyes, her red cheeks and her rounded shoulders, and knowing that she thought she was beautiful. Her frown turned into a soft smile. 

“No, I think you should stare.” Miranda countered, walking to Abigail before gently taking the clothes from her hands and putting them on the bed. “Does it bother you when I stare at you?”

Abigail was looking into her eyes now, but it never made Miranda feel less wanted. There was an eagerness that Abigail was trying to repress that made her feel wanted nonetheless. She just needed to remove what made her hold back… 

“I always feel… somewhat… self-conscious when… people stare at me…” Abigail answered. She was fidgeting, putting some hair behind her ear before realizing that her ears could blush too and putting her hair back over them. “Because you just never know what they are thinking, so you supply their thoughts with your thoughts and you just know that your hair doesn’t look right, or those jeans don’t quite fit with your shirt…” She explained, her eyes darting all over the place except in Miranda’s direction. 

Miranda let her talk and waited until she was sure Abigail felt like she had explained herself. She then cupped her face with one hand, letting the other one fall on her hips, savouring the softness and the warmth of her skin. She tilted her head up until they were looking at each other again. She then smiled and whispered:

“Oh, you never had anyone make you feel beautiful before, have you? Well, you are. You are incredibly beautiful. You are all softness and fascinating colours. Your eyes… are they brown or are they green? I can never tell… And your lips…” Miranda caressed them with her thumb, passing lightly over them before letting her hand slide down her neck with her eyes. “You never had anyone make you feel desirable. Anyone whom you might trust when they tell you they want you.” Miranda brought her hand up to cradle the back of Abigail’s head, bringing her closer until she could whisper in her ear: “Well you have now. I’ll keep reminding you until you just know that I want you. We’ve just begun, my darling.” 

At that, Miranda gently bit Abigail’s lobe, kissing her neck next, still holding her against her, feeling her own desire awaken again. She wanted to kiss all of Abigail’s neck, feel all of her skin against her lips… Last night had been so good, but she hadn’t taken enough time to truly kiss every inch of her skin, and she now knew how much she had missed. 

“Can I mark you, my sweet little rose?” She asked, already slightly breathless. 

Abigail nodded against her before swallowing, obviously too breathless for words. Miranda smiled and started working on her skin, gently, so very gently, for fear of piercing the tender skin. She tasted the bland taste of Abigail’s skin, smelling her, feeling her breasts rub against her. Abigail’s hands went to the back of Miranda’s neck, almost holding her here, her fingers tensing and relaxing with the effort of not pulling at her hair. 

And then came a knock at the door. 

Miranda stopped for a second. The knock again. She closed her eyes and groaned. 

She had already been thinking of guiding Abigail back on the bed and make demonstrate how well she had memorized last night’s lesson. 

After another second, she sighed and let go of Abigail: “Get in the shower, my dear, I’ll deal with that.” 

***

One hour later, John, James, Miranda, and Abigail were outside, backpacks ready for an excursion at the beach nearby. John, who had been charged with interrupting any morning session James knew Miranda had planned with Abigail, had winked at her when his eyes had fallen on Abigail’s hickey. James had looked at it pensively before looking back at Miranda, shaking his head with a smile. Abigail had regretted pulling her hair in a high ponytail. 

She was wearing the outfit she had bought with Eleanor during the shopping-afternoon after the date she had with Miranda, in her office. Short denim shorts she had been afraid would have been too short before she saw John’s, and a white t-shirt with puppies and kittens on it. 

When she had gotten out of the bathroom, Miranda had looked up from the backpack she was packing and had looked her all over before laughing a little in disbelief: “Are you serious?” She had asked. 

Abigail had instantly frozen: “I’m sorry… I can go change if that’s… inappropriate. I just didn’t know what we would do today and that seemed…” 

“I know what I’m going to do today…” Miranda answered, walking to Abigail, hooking her fingers in the loops of her shorts, dragging the young woman to her: “It involves removing these shorts and… well… You’ll have to see when we get to that, won’t you?” She teased her with a smile. Abigail closed her eyes and tried her best not to whimper. Her little dove was not used to being teased so long. “Shh, my darling, you’re not the one who’s going to be tortured all day by the sight of you in this.” Miranda calmed her with another smile and a kiss on her forehead. 

So here they were, ready to start walking to the beach: “It should take about an hour to get there. It’s mostly flat so it won’t be difficult.” Miranda explained the two ‘youngsters’ as she called them. “Abigail, you can ask us to pause anytime if your ankle is hurting too much. Don’t worry about being a little bit behind, James has to do his best not to over-exert himself as well.” 

Flint protested at that but Miranda didn’t let him continue: “He got shot in the stomach and he needs to rest once in a while. I know he doesn’t when he’s on duty.” Miranda added with a glare. 

“That was two years ago. It’s healed now.” Flint mumbled. 

“And you shouldn’t even carry the backpack,” John added, gently taking it from him. “Because you got shot in the shoulder and you know very well that this is not fully healed.” 

“That was over six months ago.” Flint protested. 

“Yeah and that still hurt that last time you tried to carry me and…”

“Okay, okay, just take the backpack and give me the damn towels.” Flint gave up. He helped John shoulder the backpack, making sure it would be comfortable for him on the long walk. “Isn’t the water bottle too heavy? I can carry it if you’d like.” He still asked. 

“I’ll be fine, honey, but could you please tie my tie before I head out for work?” John teased him. Flint rolled his eyes at him but before he could drawback, John threw his arm across his shoulders and drew him into a light kiss. 

Abigail looked down and pretended to be very interested in the picnic mat she was carrying. She heard Miranda chuckle next to her: “These two, I swear… John, come on, let’s hike ahead while they’re having a stroll.” 

John immediately nodded and left Flint’s arms to join Miranda’s side. Abigail looked at her, slightly nervous: was she supposed to do an hour walk next to the man who had arrested her this very week? This would be very, very uncomfortable indeed… But of course, Miranda had planned it all: “James, Abigail told me she was thinking of reading _Moby-Dick_ but she was a little daunted by the difficulty of it, which I personally think is absurd because she is a very intelligent girl, but why don’t you two talk about so you can convince her that she can?”

Miranda did phrase her commands like questions, but Abigail recognized an order when she heard one. She lived with Eleanor after all. James nodded, and Miranda and John took the little dirt road ahead. 

***

“So, John,” Miranda asked when they were far enough that neither James nor Abigail could hear them, “How did last night go after I left?” 

“Well, James put on his pyjamas and went to bed with the grumpy face that says: ‘don’t even think about talking’.”

“So what did you tell him?” 

John smiled at that: “I must have apologized a million times. I don’t think I’ve said sorry so many times in a row. And meant it. So finally, he did the grumpy mumbling thing to tell me he wasn’t truly mad at me and I should just go to sleep. So I did: draped all over him, holding him tight. He even let himself be the little spoon.”

“He does love being the little spoon, doesn’t he?” Miranda said with smile. 

“He does, but it’s so difficult to make him relax enough for him to accept it. He just turns around, takes you in his arms and you’re like: okay I give up, this is good too.” 

Miranda couldn’t help but laugh: “Yeah, that’s James for you. But I’m glad he has someone stubborn. He was… built… with those ideas so deeply ingrained in him he doesn’t see they are just ideas. It takes some time to make him let go of something.”

“And I’m just dealing with cuddling positions,” John went on. “You had to get him into bisexuality. I can’t imagine how you achieved that…”

“John,” Miranda stopped him right here just as she was starting to ascend a little hill, “Don’t presume I don’t know what you’re doing, what you’re looking for. Do you think I don’t know which books you’ve been reading? John, I know how clever you are. And I know you’ve involved Abigail in this as well.”

“You know I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I need to know. I’m in the process in finding a house with the guy because that’s how gone I am over him, and I don’t know a single thing about his past. I don’t even know his real name. I know I’ll end up discovering it all, but I think I have the right to know before I commit myself.I told him so much already. Hell, he even knows the last name on my birth certificate and all I know is that he was born in Bristol and later moved to London.” John protested Miranda’s harsh question, almost running out of breath as he continued keeping pace with Miranda. 

She was silent for a while, standing on the top of the hill, looking at the tall grass meadow and the sand dunes that announced the beach. She let the wind brought by heavy grey clouds mess her hair and wash over her face. She looked deep in thought for a moment, eyes lost in the dancing grass. She then turned around to see Abigail and James soldier on behind them. They were mostly silent, but she could see James stealing glances at Abigail’s leg, making sure she could find her balance as they went up the hill. Abigail was looking at James sometimes too, looking worried as she saw him rearrange the towels under his arm, but she had the grace to avoid asking him if he needed help with carrying them. 

That was Abigail for you: her mind razor sharp and her lips softer than silk. 

“I do hope Abigail hasn’t been dragged into this as a means to find out more about this. I know she is suspicious. She flinches every time she hears my name.” Miranda declared, barely able to temper the steel in her voice. She looked back at John was who looking stupefied. He almost scrambled for words. 

“She hasn’t. God, Miranda, I wouldn’t do that. She was already head over heels for you when I met her. James told me you two met cruel people in the past, but who would have done that? … I do admit that I’ve shared my doubts with her. Who else could I have shared them with? Abigail and I are the only one close enough to know that we don’t know you at all. And we’re gone over you both. You can understand how that concerns us. If not for me, she would have found out on her own.” 

“She would have…” Miranda recognized. “And I understand your concern, John, I do… It’s just that people asking to know more about us has never ended in our favour before. I’ll talk to James about it, but you have to be patient about that, okay? I can’t promise anything except that I’ll try. It has to come from both of us.” 

“Yes, of course, I understand,” John nodded most eagerly, curiosity plain on his handsome face. Miranda smiled a little. 

“You didn’t have to wait for us,” Flint mumbled as he joined them, Abigail right before him. 

“Nonsense,” Miranda dismissed. “We missed you, didn’t we John?” 

John acquiesced before smiling at James with a softness that made Miranda glad. She turned to Abigail who was regaining her breath, shifting her weight to her other leg. Miranda smiled at her and asked in a whisper, as if they were sharing something most important just between the two of them: “Are you alright, my dear?” 

Abigail nodded, laughing a little self-depreciatively: “I’m alright. Nothing like a good reminder that I should get back in shape.” Miranda smiled and kissed the crown of her head. 

She then took her hand and laced their fingers together, feeling an absurd sense of uncertainty and shyness as she did so. Abigail looked at their hands for a minute, her little finger ticking a little in a nervous movement. Miranda was just ready to tell her they didn’t have to do that, to be so cliché, if she didn’t feel like it, that the last thing she wanted was to make her uncomfortable, that she always had the choice to declare it too much… When Abigail’s fingers just tightened around hers and she was met with Abigail’s face just glowing with her smile. The utter joy that smile brought her made Miranda serene again, made her relax after the difficult conversation she just had. 

“I always wondered how that would feel like,” Abigail confessed in a whisper. “Holding hands with someone you love and who… likes you too.”

Miranda used their entwined fingers to drag Abigail closer to her, admiring how Abigail was affected by every instance where she took control. Miranda then murmured in her ear: “My sweet little rose.” before starting the descent down the hill. 

James and John were a little ahead of them, so they had first seats to the spectacle of John sliding his hand in James’ back pocket and squeezing his ass. James jumped at that and grasped John’s wrist, pulling his hand away and made him rest his arm on his waist instead, telling him to: “Stop that” before squeezing his hand, making sure it would stay on his waist. 

Abigail giggled a little at that and had the most gracious movement Miranda had ever seen when she looked up and pushed her ponytail away from her shoulder where it was resting.

***

They soon found themselves walking on burning white sand, looking for a shade big enough to fit all of them. The beach was mostly empty, except for a family of early risers and two couples who had visibly spent the night on the beach. 

John smiled at them before imploring James to do the same. James mumbled something about having other plans for tonight which didn’t include sand but that he would try to accommodate him. John chuckled before dragging him to the nearest shade spot. Miranda and Abigail followed them and Miranda regretfully let go of Abigail’s hand to drop her backpack and get their things out. 

John immediately undressed, revealing red boxers that had James go red soon as well. He himself was more covered than that. He took the sunscreen while John looked like a child eager to jump in the water but didn’t want to go without James. Abigail could hardly blame him: the water was bright blue, calm, already scintillating with the bright sun. 

It looked like paradise. 

“Here,” Miranda said, right next to her, “you’re so pale you need sunscreen. Let me.” She explained right before lifting her t-shirt up and out of the way, delighting in the way Abigail didn’t question it and lifted her arms to help her. 

They were so close and Miranda still smelled like the bed and the lavender shampoo Abigail couldn’t get enough from. Miranda looked beautiful and they were so close it just… pushed the thoughts from her mind. Abigail could notice the delicate line of her jaw, letting her eyes go down, down her neck, noticing the muscles there, how warm and soft her skin looked under the sun, in the cooling shade of the tree. 

She gasped a little when she felt Miranda’s fingers on the button of her shorts, gently opening them, very slowly as well, as if she was giving her a chance to stop her, which Abigail wouldn’t have do for the world… Or maybe the world without people watching them. Last night’s gestures being repeated, she could find her body repeat its answer. Her breath was deepening and she longed to just reach up to kiss Miranda, taste her lower lip again. She wondered how Miranda’s body would feel pressed against hers as they laid down on a towel in the sand. 

Miranda slid her shorts down her legs, touching her ass as she did so, which made Abigail giggle as she remembered John doing approximately the same to James earlier. Miranda let the shorts pool at Abigail’s ankles before nuzzling her nose to make her look up. The naked desire in Miranda’s eyes made Abigail allow herself to put her hands on Miranda’s shoulders. She knew they couldn’t stay like this, not in front of everyone, not now, not… but she liked it. It felt like… intimacy. Like they were slowly building a world in which they knew each other in the most unexpected of ways. 

They were interrupted by the sound of James protesting as John was standing in from of him with sunscreen in his hands. Miranda chuckled at the sight of them before whispering to Abigail: “James is the worst with sunscreen. I hope you don’t mind if I help you with it, though.” Abigail smiled and shook her head no. 

“Look,” John said, “Abigail and Miranda do it, it’s not that cliché.” as he noticed Miranda pick the sunscreen up as Abigail sat on the towel. 

“I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong couple to take example on if you want to avoid clichés, John.” Miranda answered, starting with Abigail’s back. “Since we had our first kiss in the rain yesterday.” 

James chuckled and John pouted: “Please James, sit on that damn towel and let me put sunscreen on you before you burn. I’ll let you put sunscreen on me afterwards. Let me do that for you. Please.”

James groaned but obeyed and sat on the towel next to Abigail. She smiled and said: “The curse of having a very pale skin.” James snorted. 

A minute later, they were back into their conversation about _Moby-Dick_ : “I think you’d enjoy the cetology a lot as well” James was explaining, “as a classics student, you’ll find in Ishmael’s classification of whales an echo of Virgil’s explanation of the faun and flora in _The Georgics_ and that of many Latin writers who didn’t cut science from literature as strongly as we do today. Melville’s syntax might also remind you of Latin’s writers, but I wouldn’t engage myself on that, since I know very little about Latin…” 

Abigail was listening intently with her hands obediently resting on her knees, back straight, a small frown of concentration on her brow, as if she was trying to absorb it all so she could remember later. Miranda was massaging her right arm, making sure she’d spread sunscreen everywhere so Abigail would be protected against the sun. She smiled to herself before looking up to meet John’s eyes, visibly amazed by James’ gentle ‘teacher’ voice and silently asking her if she knew about that. Miranda’s smile broadened and she interrupted James as he was starting to go into Shakespeare: 

“James, please, give some attention to your boyfriend so he can stop making puppy eyes at me and we can focus on getting in the water quicker.” 

Both James and Abigail seemed to come back to Earth at that and they laughed a little to cover their embarrassment at having forgotten everything around them. Miranda knew they would. When she had first met James, he had been so focused on watching Thomas, he barely noticed her approach, and when she had approached Abigail, she had been too focused on her journals to notice her either. 

They were two nerds, she thought tenderly before attacking Abigail’s leg, putting it on her lap to cover it with sunscreen. 

“How do you even know about Latin writers?” John asked, hands all over James’ chest, pretending to put sunscreen on him. “I thought you only read in English and Spanish.”

“Well, I didn’t read them in Latin, I read translations. Well, I always enjoyed reading…” John arched an eyebrow in a ‘no kidding’ way. “but when I met Miranda, I realized that I lacked a huge part of culture which laid in the Antiquity, so I set out to repair that.”

“Only to realize that I favoured Spanish literature.” Miranda added, chuckling. 

“Well, it’s not entirely lost now.” James said with a small self-conscious smile. 

Abigail looked so surprised that Miranda couldn’t help but drop a soft kiss on her lips. 

James broke the moment by putting some sunscreen on John who was protesting that he needed to tan. To which James answered that he might need to tan but not to burn. Soon, they were off to the water. John slapped James’ ass, challenging him to catch him before he got in the water. 

James didn’t, but he still tackled John in the water after he had reached it first, making them both fall in what, judging from John’s shouts, was very cold water. 

Abigail chuckled at the sight, right before gasping because Miranda’s hands were now on her collarbones. “I don’t want you to burn, my dear.” Miranda cheekily answered Abigail’s questioning eyes. “But now that we have a little time, we should talk…” 

Abigail frowned a little while Miranda’s fingers were bordering on the inappropriate as they followed the lines of her bikini. She wasn’t sure she could focus while she could only think of how good Miranda’s hands on her breasts had been last night. 

“We didn’t really have time to talk about last night. Did you enjoy it?” Miranda asked. 

Abigail couldn’t help but laugh a little at that, in complete disbelief: “I did. I really enjoyed last night.” She answered. 

Miranda smiled back: “It’s important that we talk about these things plainly, Abigail. I don’t ever want to do something that displeases you. I aim to keep you completely satisfied.” She declared, dropping her voice slightly lower while her hands were now sliding up and down her thighs. Abigail tried to close them but Miranda was now between them and it was so, so very difficult to focus. 

“I am. It was very, very satisfying. If anyone, I should be the one worried about being satisfying, it’s me, I…” 

“Hush, hush, little darling. It’s okay, it was your first time. I’m glad I could make it pleasant. Don’t worry about pleasing me: you were very good last night, and I enjoyed it so much. We still have time: I’ll make you very, very good. Would you like that, Abigail?” 

“Yes, please,” Abigail answered, nodding her head a little for emphasis. “I want to be good for you, please…” There was something a little desperate in Abigail’s voice that told Miranda she might have teased a little too much. Abigail was unused to these games after all, and Miranda herself, could feel herself want so much. 

She closed her eyes and wrenched her hands away: “Now, would you mind putting some sunscreen on me before we join the boys?” She asked. 

Abigail blinked twice before blushing and nodding. 

She was barely finished with Miranda’s back that John, drenched, ran up to them: “I’m coming on a mission: I am to take Abigail to the sea before you two start making out in sunscreen, not my words, James’. Would you allow it?” 

Miranda chuckled: “There is a certain number of times where I should have done this.” 

“We’re still sorry for the restaurant last time.” John said, bending slightly to take Abigail’s hand and help her stand up. Abigail looked back at Miranda who reassured her: “Go, I’ll be right behind you. I can reach the rest.” 

John and Abigail walked to the sea, John still holding her hand, swinging their arms cadence. Abigail was stunned by how big John’s muscles actually were for a moment. 

“Miranda told me she would talk to James about telling us about the name business.” He told her suddenly. 

Abigail’s steps faltered and she frowned a little, realizing that she had mostly forgotten about it. 

“Yeah, I know.” John nodded. “I mean, I’ve spent so long looking for the answers that I had completely forgotten to get them.” He pushed his hair away from his face. “So… I thought that… Whenever that happens… It might be something small and completely normal… Or it might be something big. I mean… They basically had to change their names… So I think we should just be ready for anything.” John squeezed Abigail’s hand a little. “Whatever is revealed, I know we’re going to be in this together… Right?” 

Abigail looked at John. Truly looked at him. How relaxed everyone around them was probably thinking him to be, shirtless on a beach, looking handsome… Pretty cliché. And how wrong these people would be. As strong and deep the affection Abigail was feeling for Miranda, it had been relatively short next to John’s and James’ story. If James and Miranda’s secret turned out to be the… definitive kind, John would lose someone he had started to work on a future with. 

She squeezed his hand back: “I’ll be there for you, John. Don’t worry about it.” She smiled. 

“I’m glad you came to Nassau. You couldn’t even believe how everything would be different if you had not been here.” 

“I’m glad I came too,” Abigail answered with a smile, “You can’t believe how different I was before I came here.”

They had reached the water and the small waves lapped at their toes. James was swimming out towards the biggest waves and John shook his head. He was startled when he heard Abigail swear. 

“It’s so cold!” She exclaimed. 

“Well, the sun didn’t raise that long ago: it still needs time to warm the sea up.” John chuckled. 

“So. cold.”

“Come on, once you’re in, you don’t feel the cold anymore.” He encouraged her, running in the sea like he was born in it. 

Abigail felt the contrast between the sun gently warming her naked shoulders and the sharpness of the cold sea eating at her toes quite acutely. She looked at John, plunging in the cold, cold water and squared her shoulders. “Here we go,” she whispered to herself, before taking a step forward. 

Miranda was just finishing applying some sunscreen on her nose when she heard it. 

“One of us! One of us!” John was chanting, waist-deep in the water. In front of him, Abigail was jumping up and down, water to her chest, visibly getting ready to dive in completely. James had joined them and was laughing at John. 

Miranda smiled and got up to join them. 

She was halfway to the water when Abigail finally dove in, her hair trailing after her, absorbing the water and leaving a dark shadow in the water where she was. After five little seconds, she sprung up again, raising her hands in victory. John immediately cheered her with a kind: “Finally!” which had James taking him by the hips and plunge into the water, dragging his boyfriend with him. John swore profusely. 

Abigail laughed at that and walked on to where the water reached the top of her shoulders so she would get used to the temperature. Miranda walked towards her. 

The water was cold indeed. She found herself laughing a little. It was very cold. 

She looked at Abigail who was looking all around her herself. She looked like Alice on the other side. Discovering everything with wide, curious eyes. No preconception, no judgment. Just her and the landscape. Miranda wondered what she was thinking about. How cold the water was. How different Nassau was. How she felt. There were depths in Abigail that the girl wasn’t used to sharing. Lonely people do that. They never even considered that other people might be interested in what they were thinking in the first place, so they just… don’t share it. But Miranda felt hungry for it. There was something in Abigail’s sharp and kind mind that made her want to know everything she was thinking. 

Abigail was thinking about not thinking. She had heard a lot about it when she had considered meditation as a way to relieve stress during finals. It had always seemed so wild to her. Not thinking. She could barely stop thinking long enough to go to sleep sometimes. She had not rejected the idea outright, like Eleanor had, but she had considered it and found herself intrigued. 

She had then read more about it and had come to the conclusion that it looked a lot like Virginia Woolf’s idea of felicity as she presented it in her _Moments of Being_ essay. That it would bring her to a moment of clear view of reality. That she would feel herself being, consciously being, as opposed to all these moments when she had hoped she would just not be noticed, disappear, even to her own self. 

Well, she hadn’t been so far from it, really. 

Because she could feel it now. She was carefree. Nothing truly mattered. Everything was alright. She could hear her own breaths and it sounded like the small waves lapping at her shoulders. She had the conviction, so strong and so intimate it surprised her a little, that she was one with all of this. The waves, the distant murmur of the gentle breeze in the branches, the stark cold of the water, the ragged rocks at each end of the beach, the sand under her feet, even the sky, with all its dissipating clouds and the blue stains it revealed, and the mysterious line in the horizon where the sea met the sky. 

She could feel being both herself and what surrounded in her in peaceful harmony she had never doubted could exist. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could feel a smile play on her lips. She tried to repress it but soon found that she didn’t care. It felt like time had stopped and it would always be like that. Like that moment in the bottom of the pool. 

Curiously, she wondered if she would feel the same at the bottom of the sea. She dove in gently, letting her knees bend and cold water surround her again. 

She wondered if being on the moon felt like that. The surrendering of the gravity. The strange silence. The salt stung her eyes when she opened them under water and she looked up. The sun was not as bright, like the big ink bolt she had seen in the pool, but she could see its effects, like thin arrows of sunlight underwater and the little punctures of light they created. 

When Abigail emerged, slightly out of breath, Miranda was here. She smiled at her: “This has an air of déjà vu, doesn’t it?” Miranda asked, holding out her hand which Abigail took eagerly. 

“You called me a dryad of the trees.” Abigail remembered. 

“In my defense, I have been reading Keats a lot lately.”

“I don’t think anyone ever gave me a sweeter compliment.”

Miranda drew her in, and the same warmth bloomed in Abigail’s chest. Following Miranda’s lead, being invited in, never failed to make her feel so. She felt accepted with such ease she could almost forget she had ever felt unwanted. 

“What were you thinking about, my dryad?” Miranda asked, wrapping her arms around her waist. Abigail immediately put her arms around Miranda’s neck and wondered how natural it felt. She didn’t even ask herself what to do. 

“I was thinking about… Quiet. Calmness. The sort of… deep, intense joy I feel here… I felt it in the pool too. It’s like… in the water, your body changes the way it feels as gravity is transformed, and your mind feels the same. Slower, deeper, quieter. The gravity of your mind changes.” Abigail scoffed a little and hid her face in Miranda’s neck. “It’s a little dramatic.” 

Miranda didn’t let her die. She hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her head so their eyes could meet. Miranda held her gaze pensively, as if she was getting lost in her, before shaking her head: “It’s not dramatic. I love the way your perceive the world. I wish I could always know what you’re thinking. It would be an endless source of wonders. You have the soul of a poet.” 

Abigail laughed a little, feeling her cheeks flush. The compliment felt too good to be accepted. Abigail had never written poetry after age 13 and those scribbles could barely be called poems. At the same time, she felt herself craving the soul of a poet. So she answered: “I thought I was a painter.” 

“The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.” Miranda quoted, right against her ear, a hand on her cheek, the other still on her waist. “That’s how I feel. Like you make me want to change how I see…”

She was interrupted by John and James who swam towards them, splashing and bickering at each other. 

“So, lovebirds,” John said, “Are you up for a competition?”

“A competition?” Miranda asked, not letting go of Abigail but putting some space between them. 

“We shall be the steeds and you shall be the valorous knights. First to fall in the water looses.” John exclaimed, visibly excited by his idea. 

James mumbled something about how it was no wonder he had found him on a swing. Miranda agreed. 

First here, first served,” Silver declared, “Thou shall my Don Quixote, Miranda!” 

“Does that make you Rocinante?” James joked. 

John splashed him: “I may not have read _Don Quixote_ but I do speak Spanish.” James just kissed his frown away. 

“And who shall you be, darling?” Miranda asked Abigail. 

Abigail looked at James to consult him as he was visibly fighting with himself to keep his hands away from John’s hair after he had kissed his forehead. John answered: “Abigail can be Captain Ahab and you can be Moby- _Dick_ ”

Miranda laughed so hard she had to press a hand against her mouth. She then saw James’ face, completely defeated by John’s pun, and had to cover her entire face. Abigail watched Miranda laughing, how her shoulders shook, how she sounded, how she had to wipe tears from her eyes and how her smile just made her glow. 

“Abigail can be Captain Ahab, I’ll be the Pequod.” James answered begrudgingly. 

“I actually do think of Abigail as more of an Ishmael than a Captain Ahab.” Miranda said with a mysterious smile. 

“While I do agree,” James said, “let’s just run with Captain Ahab for the purposes of this game.”

***

Abigail could not believe she was sitting on the shoulders of the man who had arrested her just a few days ago, play-fighting with her new lover, making such a ruckus that even the family at the other end of the beach could hear them and the children were looking at them enviously. 

From the first game, Miranda had mischievously learned that Abigail was ticklish. Not just ticklish: very ticklish. The Don Quixote team had won every game except for one. The one they had won had been entirely in James’ credit as he had traitorously splashed John, making him drop Miranda as he had tried to rub salt water out of his eyes before losing his own balance and following his Don Quixote down. 

After a very close call that could have been the Pequod team second victory, they all decided that these clouds were definitively not going away and they should of heading back before the rain. 

“You were right, John,” Abigail joked, “when you’re in the water, you can’t feel the cold anymore… Because you just can’t feel anything anymore. I don’t think I can actually feel my feet.” 

John laughed and confessed he was quite cold too. James just threw him his towel. 

Half dressed, half still in their swimsuits, they all walked back to the cabins before the rain could catch them. This time, James and Miranda were ahead and Abigail and John a little behind. Abigail had to say that her ankle was starting to hurt a little, but she would rather not admit it out loud. 

John and Abigail could both see that James and Miranda were having a serious conversation and the worry it induced put some strain on their own conversation. They couldn’t catch anything and, truly, their serious faces could mean anything. After a few minutes, John gave up, shook his head and started up a new conversation: 

“So, Abigail… What can you tell me about last night’s events?” He asked with a smile. 

She felt herself blush a little: “Well, we had… sex… you know…” 

“That’s a good start! Who initiated? Is Miranda like a sort of sex demon? Because James knows things that are quite impressive and I’m pretty sure she was the one to teach them to him.” 

Abigail had a little disbelieving laugh: “I can’t really be the judge of that, can I? I was… I had never… before… So I guess anyone would have been a ‘sex demon’ in my book.”

John’s eyebrows shot up: “What, never? I mean, I had figured you didn’t do the occasional one-night stand, but… Not even a boy from your rebel years that you were certain you were in love with plus he can play guitar so of course he’s your soul mate, right to the moment where he comes too soon and leaves you unsatisfied?”

Abigail simultaneously laughed out loud and frowned: “That was oddly specific. And you can probably guess I never had rebel years.” 

“Nonsense, everyone has rebel years, even if all you do is like… not going to your maths class to smoke in the bathroom.”

Abigail thought for a moment before laughing to herself and nodding: “Yeah, okay, I guess you’re right… I lied to my father about what I was doing for the break, smuggled pearls illegally across a border, and shot a man.”

John smiled at that and shook his head: “You should have stuck to smoking in the bathroom like the rest of us.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this, please do tell me what you thought about it, I would be beyond happy! 
> 
> If you want to chat or tell me more or anything, you can find me on tumblr at mrsbarlowswife.tumblr.com


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